As I continue alone this writing journey, I keep recalling things I want to include but only remember long after I have passed their timeframe. But that's what flashbacks are for right? Let me introduce you to the sno cone man. When I was a toddler living in Hanover, there was an ice cream truck that roamed the streets in the summer. That sweet summer music was magic coming down the street. Having a bad day? The ice cream jingle melted the haze. Sadly, it did not follow us when we landed in Abbottstown, PA. Sometime between the summer of 2000 and 2002, an all too familiar melody could be heard from a distance. Not having known that frozen goodness on wheels for years, I flew out of the house and flagged the little truck down the only way I knew how. "STOP! STOP!" I yelled. My shouts appeared to do the trick as the white truck rolled to a stop. But to my surprise, it did not contain ice cream. It was loaded with sno cones. I was also expecting an older man in a white hat to be behind the wheel. Instead the driver was a young man with dark black hair who looked like college was in his life's path. When I asked how much a sno cone was, he said "75 cents". I was ecstatic as I had plenty of quarters in my room. I asked him to wait and as I was running back into my house, my siblings were spilling out of the front door. We grabbed our quarters and lined up at his truck. We watched as he packed paper cones with ice and swirled those flavored filled bottles of sugary liquid over top. He handed me mine and while it was nothing fancy, it was still the best taste of summertime the three quarters could buy.
The sno cone man found out really quick that some of his best business was on our little street. It wasn't long before Maggie, Katherine, Zach, Abby, and Krista discovered his truck. Anytime he drove up our street after that, he'd have no trouble selling sno cones. There came days I couldn't walk up to Rutters to get a candy bar and pop because I had spent that money on sno cones. Zach was a bit picky and only ever ordered the grape flavor. Not sure why he didn't like the rest, but it was always grape for him. Banana and blue raspberry were my go-tos. There were days where I had a sixth sense and expected to hear the music before it even played. One of those days I had stopped his truck at the beginning of the street and as I was making my way into the house, Tim appeared while yelling "STOP!" only to find that I had beat him to it.
The sno cone man created bonding experiences. If his truck rumbled up the street and none of us were out, we would be soon and all the neighborhood kids would end up playing together while enjoying those frosty treats. He knew his customers and knew he could get a lot of sales rolling up our street. There were some days which none of us wanted (or could afford) a sno cone, but that didn't stop him from coming our way time and time again.
Eventually, the summer came to a close, he and his truck disappeared for the season. We understood why he only came around in the summer, but that didn't mean we were okay with it. Sometimes we counted the days until he came back. The next summer finally arrived and the anticipation was high. June made herself known, but there was no sno cone man. No happy music coming from a truck. No nothing. We wondered if he was okay or if he even still drove the truck. Then one fateful afternoon in July, I was playing outside when suddenly a familiar tune was heard down the street. My siblings and I dropped everything and charged in the direction of the sound. As we got closer we began shouting "STOP!" The familiar white truck obliged and more of our friends appeared, having heard the magical sound. As we lined up at the truck, quarters in hand, eager to make that frosty purchase, our expressions became shocked as the driver was not the familiar sno cone man we all knew. Instead, it was a much older woman. We wondered where the sno cone man was, but didn't have the courage to ask. But the truck came and still sold sno cones and that's what mattered. We placed our orders and the lady began making them. The first one she bungled and instantly tossed the flavored ice out the window. "Sorry that one wasn't good," she said. She quickly made another. She made the others smoothly, took our money, and drove off. The sno cones were still good, but for some reason they didn't taste the same. And the even sadder part of this story was that the lady who was now driving the truck never once drove up our street again. The music didn't play and no frosty goodness for us. The answer as to why is still a mystery. My mom suspected the truck was a summer job for the sno cone man and that he had gone off to college. Whatever the case was, that one summer he faithfully and constantly roamed our streets was a summer to remember.
Big storms. I hated them especially at night thanks to the Camp Wabanna experience. But one in particular was a storm to remember. My grandparents were out of town and had asked my dad to check on the house while they were gone. My parents had to run errands one of those nights so we all had to go along. We stopped by their house on the way back. My mom stayed in the car while dad ran inside. As I looked out the back window of that old Chevy Lumina mini van, I could see the clouds rolling in. The wind picked up like mad and began to whip the large maple tree out front back and forth with intense ferocity. I had witnessed many storms in my day, but something told me this one was going to be different. The rain came next in a torrent. I knew my dad was waiting it out inside and we were stuck in the metal van. After being nearly silent the whole time, I spoke up and said "There's going to be a lot of trees down and branches everywhere when we get home." My mom, not wanting my anxiety to kick in said calmly "No it's just another storm, we've been through these before. We'll be fine." Finally the storm began to move on. My dad appeared out of the house. He locked it and rushed to the car. I once again announced there was going to be a mess of trees at home, with no evidence of this happening at my grandparent's house. "It'll be fine" my dad said.
I was quiet the whole ride home. The rains had pretty much left and the wind was non-existent. We pulled the van into our gravel driveway. Suddenly my parents became very quiet. They started talking in low whispers. I couldn't see much from the back seat but I knew something was up. Finally, they got out and let us out too. I jumped out and my jaw dropped. My prediction had come true. Large branches were down everywhere. Some trees had their tops completely snapped off. Some were leaning against others and some on the ground. Never before had I seen so much chaos. "I told you!" I shouted triumphantly. As I couldn't contain my surge of adrenaline, I saw a site that wrecked my current state. Up by the little brown shed my mom had a patio table with a metal frame and a glass top. She would leave that out all summer and never had an issue. We ate many lunches and some dinners on it. But now it laid crushed beneath a massive tree branch. The glass top was shattered into a million pieces. A faithful table of many years destroyed by a rogue branch. "I had a feeling to put that inside," my mom mumbled. Then she sighed. Since it was getting dark, my parents wouldn't let us explore much more. As we entered the house, my dad flipped the light switch and nothing happened. The digital clock on the microwave was off. The power was out. The landline still worked. Since my grandparents were out of town, all we could do was hunker down and ride it out until the power company restored the power.
The next day was blue skies and sunny. Eager to explore, we kids raced outside. The carnage was greater than we thought. Branches covered the ground from twigs to widowmakers. Once mighty trunks that stood tall were now sleeping giants. Tree tops that birds called home were decapitated without mercy. But to us, kids without cell phones or youtube, we had a whole new playground to explore. The branches we gathered to make forts, tepees, and shelters. The tree heads upon the ground with all their leaves made for great hiding spots and we used our imaginations to make them pirate ships, secret caves, rockets to the moon, or whatever fun fantasies our minds could conjure. And as for the full trees that toppled, those became massive balance beams, obstacle courses, and new tree climbing routes. It was practically Christmas in July.
The storm that caused the scenes I just described actually turned out to be way worse than it seemed. You'd think because we had so many trees that's why the destruction was high on our end. But it took multiple days to restore the power. And in the process they cut through the phone lines leaving us with no electricity nor access to anyone else within shouting distance. But as much destruction as that fateful storm caused, it didn't shake me like it should've. Yes the power and phone was out. Yes everywhere was a mess. Yes the situation seemed grim. But in a time where life was a little more simple, we made the most out of a bad situation. The house and car was undamaged. Nobody we knew was hurt. Patio tables can be replaced. The power would eventually be restored. In those few weeks that it took for the country club to get their maintenance team to clean up and remove all the debris, my siblings, the neighborhood kids, and myself had many adventures that only that storm and a little imagination could provide. Storms may rage, but they don't last. It's what you make of the aftermath and how you handle it that truly defines your character.
