The Ice House

Back in the day, we had to get ice to make ice cream at what we called Ice Houses. They were out of town, somewhere on the outskirts. They were actually like giant vending machines and you could get bags of ice or a square block of ice.  But the bags weren't those small size bags we know today! They were huge--like maybe ten pounds, or so they seemed to my little girl self. They made a loud thud as they came crashing down the dispenser and arrived in a heavy brown paper bag. My dad hoisted the bag into the front sear of the car, and it was on those occasions I thought of my office executive dad as super strong!

On the way home, I got to put my feet on the bag, which was the best part of the long, hot ride. We also drove faster on the way home in order to get there before the ice melted, the windows all rolled down, air blowing my hair into tangles. The ice melting was as big a deal as finding the cork. No ice, no ice cream!!

But not once, in all the years we made ice cream, do I remember the ice actually melting. I do remember once that my fathet hit the "block" ice button and we ended up with a giant, melty block of ice with no bag covering it.  "Well, what should we do with this ice, Sweetie?" my dad asked me... story to be continued....