Weenie Roasts

Uncle Lynn is my mom's older brother. He lived close to grandma's house so I would see him all the time when we would come to visit. Lynn was always taller than me. Lynn had three daughters that started at the same age as me and went down in age almost matching with my two younger brothers. My cousins were used to coming to grandma's house all the time to help with whatever needed doing and Uncle Lynn was the one to do most of the plowing when grandpa didn't want to get on the tractor. When we would go to grandma's in the summer time even when we were little we had responsibilities to do small chores around the house and the yard. Grandma's yard had a lot of trees; walnut trees, cherry trees, willow trees, poplar trees, and other bushes and trees of which I do not know their names. In mid summer one could hide in the shade of one of the many trees. Because there were so many trees there were always broken branches or dead branches and sticks that had fallen from the trees. Lynn would come over and ask us if we wanted to have a weenie roast for lunch. We would all cheer because that meant that Lynn was going to light a fire. This also meant that Lynn was going to get out his old five gallon metal milk jug and make root beer. First the work that didn't amount to work because it meant we would have a fire was to clear off the yard of all of the dead branches and make a big pile underneath the oldest and biggest walnut tree. Now if you have not been around walnut trees they drop a lot of nuts. The husk of these nuts is green and as they ripen on the branches or as they fall to the ground the green turns a dark tan when the husk is removed there is a layer of black that is so dark it will stain anything. Our hands would be black from gathering the walnuts that had fallen from the tree. The branches tended to have some of this black on them as well so gathering the sticks meant getting dirty. I liked to get dirty and I never worried about having clean hands or even a clean face. As we gathered up sticks we would also gather up the fallen walnuts. I would find an old brick or a large rock and take the walnut over to the cement walk that came out the side of the house. There I would smash the walnut with the rock or brick and try to fish out the edible part of the nut. Sometimes I would get large pieces to come out all at once but most of the time we would get little pieces mixed with the shell. I didn't care I ate what I could and spit out the rest. Being thus distracted from gathering the sticks I would have to be chided to go back to gathering the branches. With the branches all gathered into the designated spot under the old walnut tree, Lynn would tell us to go get a green willow switch. The willow made the best sticks to stick the hot-dogs on because they were long and straight. The only draw back was that if I picked a willow switch that was too skinny the hot-dog would cause the stick to curve so it looked like a fishing rod bent from the weight of a catch. Lynn always carried a pocket knife with him and so he would trim off any leaves or small branches on our sticks and then he would whittle down one end to a point. I always wanted to whittle the point by myself but he would just smile and then do it for me. When I got older he would let me borrow the knife but I always used the knife in his presence and gave it right back when I was done. Lynn and my dad were very good friends. They two would be the ones to make the root beer. It is a fairly easy process to make root beer. They would go to the store and pick up the root beer extract, five pounds of sugar, and dry ice. They would take the five gallon metal milk jug and put about a gallon of water in then add the sugar and the root beer concentrate. Once that mixture was stirred and the sugar dissolved they filled the jug up with water to about four and a half gallons. Stirring that one more time they then added the dry ice. Now it is always a mystery as to how much dry ice one should add to get the right consistency. I think they would get between eight and ten pounds of the stuff then break it into smaller pieces and then put it into the jug. The dry ice would cause the water to bubble and boil like a witches brew. We always wanted to breath in the cloud of white that it produced. Lynn would put the lid on the jug at an angle so that the gas could still escape while still covering the contents. I always asked what would happen if he put the lid on all the way and he said it would make the milk jug explode. We never tried to do that although when I got older I did make a few dry ice bombs using two liter bottles and those definitely exploded so he was speaking the truth. The root beer takes about forty five minutes to get fizzy and carbonated so in the wait we would start the fire to get it ready to roast our hot-dogs. Lynn seemed to always be the one to start the fire. He would not bother with trying to build a log cabin or a tee-pee fire he would just push the pile of sticks and branches that we had gathered down a little and use some newspaper and bark or some old weeds and light the fire. I would get to close to the fire and be asked to move back and I would for a minute then I would creep back up closer to the fire again. Even though it was mid summer and hot outside I always loved the feel of the fire and watching as the branches slowly caught fire and then burned. The fire would grow with the red and orange flames licking the sky. Some times the pile of sticks were so high that they would almost touch the large branch of the old walnut tree but the flames never did any harm to the branch. Grandma and mom and the other aunts and cousins would all gather around. The uncles would bring out a table for which to put all of the fixings and we would run to get our sticks and grab a weenier to start roasting. We would stick it close to the glowing coals down at the bottom of the fire. Sometimes the fire would be so hot that we would hold one hand out with the stick while protecting our faces with the other hand, peeking occasionally to see if the weenier was done. The lunch always seemed to start later than expected but no one cared. A clock never factored into the time spent at grandma's house or playing with uncle Lynn. He would eat the walnuts we shared with him even if they had a bit of the shell mixed in. Lynn was always taller than me.