We always arrived after dinner; a welcome lit only by the fading dusk, abundant lighting bugs, and warm smiles on my grandparents' faces. The click of a seat belt, the pop of a door. We all stretched and walked the stairs to the front porch to get hugs while sneaking a peak of the cookies waiting inside.
A visit to Quincy, usually in the very hot month of August, around my Dad's birthday, was comprised of the same familiar rituals. Food was always a focal point. As mentioned, there were cookies on the table when we arrived; perhaps eight different varieties lining a large tray. I went straight for the Hello Dollies and fudge. Meals were planned for the week; Underbrinks radio rolls and my Grandma's zucchini bread for breakfast, large lunches spanning from steak and french fries, to roast beef, to fried chicken, jello salad always on the side. Supper was always 'lighter', likely leftovers or cold cuts. There was always a visit to the Maid Rite, a native institution specializing in sloppy joe-like sandwiches. And we went out for a couple formal dinners, including one to Spring Lake's Clubhouse which featured Shirley Temples, Melba Toasts, fried shrimp and peppermint stick ice cream.
Despite all that we craved and consumed in Quincy, there was one easy way to burn it off. Spring Lake. Every day, weather permitting, we would pack our suits, towels and sand toys, and drive to my Grandparents country club, which was as unique as they come. The true destination was its sand bottom pool, filled with spring water, surrounded by a beach, shaded by mature Oaks and Sycamores. White finger docks jutted out on the far end to form swimming lanes. A platform in the middle was there for diving. And two slides; one for the fearful, the other for the fearless; provided the ultimate Stairmaster exercise. Hours melted into minutes quickly at Spring Lake. We soaked up every last second, including that coveted part of the day when we were allowed to order a Deter's Chipwich from the 19th Hole's window, biting and slurping it up greedily.
We came hungry for all that Quincy had to offer, and left so very full.
After my grandparents passed, there wasn't really a reason to return to Quincy. Despite that, thoughts of this very small dot on a map, hugging the mighty Mississippi River, come to me every summer. Particularly, as I walk by a stretch of Sycamores in my neighborhood. In July and August, something about their aroma mixed with the Midwestern air brings back Quincy memories and begs me to tell my kids about this special place.
Sometimes, seeing is believing though. And after a year of planning, I and 37 other descendants of my Grandparents got to show them what Quincy was all about.
On a blazing hot Friday, in keeping with tradition, I drove the kids four and a half hours down I-55 to the banks of the Mississippi. Mary had been asking if we were there yet for a while. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Okay, there's the sign. As we passed industrial sites and Gardner Denver's office, Bobby stared out the window and said, 'Ahhhh ... Quincy is beautiful, Mommy.' To a kid that loves construction vehicles, maybe. But I was quietly wishing it would get more picturesque as we climbed the bluff, hoping that the vision of this humble city would live up to the expectations I had set.
Starting with the warm welcome we got at the Hampton Inn from my Aunt Barb, the city didn't disappoint. From the Patio, to the picnic, to the pool, to the prayers at St. Francis, everything was perfect - just as I remembered and just as my kids might have envisioned in my stories.
Better than me relaying the experience, I asked my kids about their favorite parts of the family reunion.
Bobby: Uh ... what's a reunion again, Mama?
Me: It's when people come back together after being apart.
Bobby: And what's that place called again that we went to?
Me: Quincy, buddy.
Bobby: Right, Quincy. Umm ... I liked tackling those big boys. You know I'm stronger than them.
Me: Matt and Chris. Yep, you did do that. You also were wrestling a little too rough with Will.
Bobby: NO! We were playing football, Mommy!
Mary: I liked getting to cut Aunt Barb's cake.
Bobby: I got to cut a piece too. I liked that.
Mary: I loved Spring Lake and getting an ice cream sandwich through that little window.
Mary: I liked getting all dressed up in the locker room and then going to dinner. I also really liked the fried shrimp - can you make those, Mom? But I didn't like when Bobby banged my head on the dance floor.
Mary: Yeah.
Bobby: I said I was sorry!
Mary: Also who is that girl?
Me: This one?
Me: That's right. That's Katrina. What else did you like?
Mary: I liked those Sloppy Joes.
Mary: And having dinner at the Patio.
Me: We will go back. I promise.
The only thing my kids couldn't experience, the thing that really made Quincy shine, were my Grandparents. On Saturday morning, we ran by their house and I hugged their epic Oak. I relayed the stories and pictures of the place's heyday. On Sunday, we celebrated them at a special Mass at St. Francis. But knowing them, my kids' great grandparents, can only be felt in their offspring. And I've got to say, I think they felt their presence all weekend long.
Their smiles.
Lo.
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