I am the second youngest of ten grandchildren. As a youngster lollipop meant only one thing. A trip to my father’s parents’ farm. It wasn’t a working farm at the time, but had lots of acreage, multiple large barns, a huge garden, a few fruit trees, and a pantry that was as large as a spare bedroom in a modern ranch house. The trick when we were there was to be well enough behaved to be invited into the pantry. Like I said, it was a big room and we would all go in at once. Granny would take a large clear glass jar down off the shelf, take the lid off and hold it while we each picked out our favorite flavor lollipop. They were the size of my grandfather’s large thumb.
According to where you were in the line, you would silently hope someone else didn’t pick the flavor you wanted, if there was only one in the jar. The cinnamon one had white lines on it and the cherry did not. The root beer were my favorite, and the lime my least favorite. Sometimes if I were last to pick, that’s what I got stuck with. You didn’t complain about not getting your first choice.
The farm had a couple other interesting features. Out next to the road there was a large cement “box” with steps down each side. It was about three feet tall and three feet square. We called it the buggy stand. Back in the day of horse and buggy, the buggy would pull up next to it and the people would step out onto the stand, then walk down the steps. There was no need for a rugged man to lift the little lady out of the buggy and set her on the ground like you see in old western movies. The other feature was a seven holer! Yes, an outhouse with seven holes. I believe there were four smaller holes and three larger ones. It was between two of the barns, behind a huge lilac bush. And yes, the girls all went together, chattering away the whole time. I think the boys still thought a tree was a better target.
Years later, when the grandparents were gone, and the grandchildren had children of their own, Uncle Jim would bring that same type lollipop to the summer family picnic. He always brought enough for everyone, and we all stood in line and hoped our favorite would still be left when it was our turn to pick. Some things never change.
Sue Spitulnik 