Homemade Ice Cream

Have you ever seen a picture and it brought back the most amazing memories? When I saw this old fashioned ice cream maker I got tears in my eyes remembering my father and all the memories connected to this little bucket. It was a big event when in the heat of the summer my dad decided to make homemade ice cream. He would buy some ice and salt, cream and fresh peaches and begin the process. Being a child I never paid much attention to the process but I knew he was stirring something in a pan on the stove. Then he’d put in the ice and salt and pour the creamy mixture into a container that sat in the middle of the ice bucket. Then it was time to crank. We thought it was a big deal to take our turn at cranking the handle to stir the dasher inside to make the ice cream thick and creamy. I’m sure he did most of the cranking but we always thought we were a big part of doing something wonderful. When he was done he’d let us have a spoonful before he put it in the freezer to set up. We couldn’t wait till after dinner when we would be able to enjoy this refreshing treat.
    Thinking back there were a lot of life’s lessons taught by that ice cream freezer. The joy of anticipation. The concentration of cranking. The patience of waiting for results. The pride of doing a job. The cooperation of sharing the crank. The family love that went into it.
    Dad kept up that tradition at least once a year. Every summer we traveled to Georgia to visit all of my mother’s family. One time we had an ice cream social at my aunt’s house where there were four flavors of homemade ice cream. But we felt that my dad’s was always the best.