When I was growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s, my extended family lived life together, as most settled near or in the Quad Cities. Birthdays were especially important, and with a large family, it was nearly always time to get the family together and celebrate with card games and food. My siblings and I got close with our many cousins, and I have many fun memories of the innumerable birthdays, anniversary parties, or other events.
     As close family, we also helped each other out with farming. Many expensive pieces of machinery were shared with each other. When we baled hay or harvested oats or corn, we could count on the family’s help. Many hands made light work. One of the best things about these gatherings was the delicious, large meals that my mom and my aunts prepared for the gang of hungry, sweaty relatives. Everyone worked hard in the fields and had huge appetites come meal time. Of course, hunger makes the best seasoning, but it seemed that each meal topped the previous one in quantity and deliciousness. Some of them even rivaled Thanksgiving—which is saying a lot!!
     Oftentimes, in addition to the huge noon meal we’d just eaten, Mom would bring the workers a mid-afternoon snack in the fields.  Once, when I was about five or six, the uncles and cousins were baling at our farm, and my mother decided to surprise them with homemade chocolate cake. Mom told me to get my toy wagon, and then I helped her load a heaping pile of plates, silverware, cups and jugs of water into the red wagon bed. I proudly pulled the haul out to the field while Mom carried the beautiful cake loaded with velvety chocolate frosting.
It was a very warm day for baling, and Mom and I arrived at the perfect time. The crew had reached the end of a windrow, their hay rack completely stacked with new bales of fresh, green hay. They were ready to switch to the empty rack, which was sitting at the edge of the field, but saw my mom coming—and knew that a treat was in store! Mom set her beautiful cake on the empty rack and began preparing to dish it onto plates. She’d only cut half the cake in the kitchen, knowing she’d have time as the guys went through the line, to cut the other half. She placed the first piece of cake on a plate and handed it to the uncle first in line, then turned around to my toy wagon to get him a fork. While her back was turned, my Uncle Jack, who was second in line, snatched the un-cut half of the cake as one piece and began to devour it!! Because he’d taken so much, several on the crew didn’t get any cake. Jack got razzed quite a bit that day—and for many years to come. From then on, my mother always cut the whole cake in the kitchen before taking it to the field!
     Baking, family, and hard work are still treasured parts of life on our farm. You can purchase our delicious baked goods (to cut and share with your family or have all to yourself!) at the Cinnamon Ridge Country Cupboard. Of course, don’t miss out on our award-winning cheese, meat, and eggs. Our products are also available at North Scott Foods in Eldridge and the Freight House Farmers Market.    

     Living in the country could be very isolating, and our many chores to do didn’t leave much time for visiting. My parents combated this by going dancing three times a week. They would go to the Kol Ballroom in Davenport, Club Mocan in Moline, and Fairyland in DeWitt. Mom and Dad loved the social aspect of it, getting off the farm and chatting with their friends. They would dance the twelve dances and sometimes go for a bite afterwards. The dances started at eight, and they’d get home a little after eleven.
 
     Most of the time my siblings and I stayed home and finished chores while Mom and Dad got dressed up and went off dancing.  When we were each around 12, however, we were taken along so we could learn to dance. I balked at going along to the dance when my turn came around, so I was told that learning to dance would improve my basketball skills. I begrudgingly went along and danced with my mother. As I got better, I would sometimes dance with some of their friends. I learned to dance the waltz, foxtrot, polka, tango, and two-step. Despite knowing all these dances, I still wasn’t a starter on the basketball team.
 
     One night some friends at the Fairyland dance told them the Kenny Holfer band was playing at Club Mocan in Moline and invited them to go. Mom and Dad hadn’t been there before, so my father got some general directions from the friends and felt confident he could find it. The next week they set out in the 1966 Ford Galaxy 500 to Moline. The general directions proved to be not enough, and they were soon lost in the ravines and dead-end streets of Moline. He’d head south, find he wasn’t far west enough and be forced to go back towards the river to find another crossroad. My mother suggested asking for directions, but he preferred to trust the map in his head. By the time they got to Club Mocan, it was already the third dance!
 
    Once when arriving at another dance at Fairyland, they found their friend Ted Musal struggling to unlock his vehicle, having locked the keys inside. Many men tried to jimmy it open without success. My father, being the coach of my little league baseball team, had the gear in the backseat. Ted finally got so frustrated he grabbed one of the baseball bats and broke the window.
 
     A delicious steak would be a great Valentine’s dinner to share with your dance partner. Steak—and many other delicious cuts of meat—are available in the Cinnamon Ridge Country Cupboard, along with our cheese, eggs, and baked goods.