Daddy jumped out of the family car when he saw us approach. My brother Billy sat in the car’s backseat calmly eating fried pork skins. Clearly relieved to see us, Daddy fussed, “I worried that you might be having so much fun shopping, that you’d forget what time to come back to the car!”

Mom assured him, “I had fun, but I remembered you wanted to get home at a reasonable time. You start your evening chores at 4 p.m. every day like clockwork. Then you milk the cows.” Betty, Mary and I got into the car. My three siblings and their purchases were packed in the backseat, while I wedged myself between Mom and Daddy in the front seat along with more packages. As we pulled away from where our car was parked, I worried that Daddy was in such a big hurry to get home to do barn chores, that he would skip my favorite part of a shopping trip to Marshfield. I leaned against him and begged, “Please Daddy, can we stop at Clover Cream for ice cream?”

With a twinkle in his eyes, Daddy cheerfully responded, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!” I knew his answer was ‘yes!’ He liked the rhyme, which was from an old-time song, and often said it when we asked for ice cream.  

Living on a farm 12 miles from Marshfield, we seldom went shopping in the bigger city. Most of our supplies came from Stratford, a small town only three miles from our farm. However, with Easter Sunday being three weeks away, Mom determined that we needed to visit Marshfield to buy new hats and gloves to wear to church. We found what we were looking for, and more!

After supper, Mom hid one of her shopping bags in a closet. I smiled, realizing it contained Easter Bunny treats. Together, we admired the pretty hats Mom had bought. I especially liked my new lavender spring jacket, because last year’s jacket was too small.

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