I don't know what your opinions on picnics may be, but I have some definite ones. If you care to hear them I will mount my special rubber cushioned soap box and unburden myself with a few caustic comments regarding this back to nature movement that seems to infect humanity at the first blush of sunshine and the initial warm zephyr from the south.

Mankind never seems to be satisfied with what it has. It strove for centuries to build magnificent houses to get away from living outdoors. Having achieved the near ultimate with residences that contain all the modern developments of science and the culinary arts--equipment that will practically cook a meal unaided and clean up afterwards as well as serve it in refreshing air cooled dining rooms with comfortable chairs, attractive silver and china--humanity now wants to reverse the procedure and see how far back it can go to outdoor ancestral eating. To me that's a picnic, bub.

The first step in any picnic is to procure a car--a large one with a spacious trunk. If there is a trailer handy, it may be necessary to press that into service, too.

Having secured the transportation the next step involves getting it loaded. Out come the supplies, usually as much of the kitchen and dining room as will fit into the car and trailer. That standard saying about "everything but the kitchen sink" never was more true than in the case of a picnic. There are thermos jugs of various sizes containing lemonade, coffee, milk, and maybe water if none is available at the picnic spot. No picnic is complete without several bowls of potato salad. Then of course, there must be cake, watermelon, cookies, potato chips, several salt and pepper shakers, some of which will spill their contents before the destination is reached, cups, plates, glasses, knives, forks, and spoons, paper or service weight old ones depending on whether you won't to throw them away or bring them back alive--and I do mean with ants. Don't forget the cream and sugar unless you want your coffee black. For the woodsmen who like fires on their picnics, wieners or marshmallow, or both are essential as well as the wood to make the fire. If the trip requires that some distance traversed a portable ice box to keep the beer cool is a must. The less agile ones who cannot sit on the ground may require tables and chairs. The others can content themselves by planting their posterior on blankets. Of necessity large groups will have to bring along a ball and bat so the children can have a softball game. Lest the dessert be omitted, mention should also be made of at least a gallon of ice cream properly packed. Has anything been forgotten? Oh yes, the portable radio.

Having everything securely lashed down inside and outside the car, the entourage proceeds to the chosen glen. Then everything is reversed. Everything that goes in must come out. The pack horses load up and proceed to where the repast is to be eaten. Pasture picnics with their consequent dangers from beef on the hoof are a thing of the past. Now numerous parks cater to the picnicker.

It is here the real fun begins. If the spot is a park the search begins for a table. However, the birds have usually been there first. They have everything in sight sewed up. In fact, they have made a deposit on every table (and I don't mean down payment).

After the least dirty table has been selected numerous papers are first spread on them after which the table cloths are brought out. Because of the wind blowing these must be anchored down with substantial weights at each corner with several in between. The wind plays havoc with the paper eating utensils, too. They go sailing off unless securely anchored down. A picnic plate blown by the wind must have been what started all this flying saucer scare. It doesn't do any good to put liquid in the paper cups. The wind just blows them over and spills the contents on the table cloth and on the nearest person.

To may way of thinking the ideal picnicker must be designed like a Burmese idol--one with 16 arms. On a picnic they would be divided about thusly: two for eating off the plate, one for holding down a cup, three of four to keep the children at their places or to keep them from falling in the river, a couple to keep your hat from blowing away in the wind, two more for shading your eyes and the rest will be kept busy just flicking ants off your food, swatting mosquitos, and chasing flies.

Once the food has been consumed nothing remains but a pile of peels, rinds, dirty dishes, empty bottles and a swarm of flies. The remains are then packed up and transported back into the auto for the return journey. Quite a letdown from bringing it to the picnic.

After being thoroughly bitten by mosquitos, exhausted from chasing flies, burned to a crisp by the sun, with hair disheveled and eyes and ears full of dust and nearing a state of collapse from carrying things to and fro, the return journey is at least started. Reluctantly ( Oh yeah!) we wend our weary way homeward.

When home is at least reached all the leftovers must be removed from the car and brought back into the house. At the completion of this seemingly endless task the picnic is officially declared at an end and all sink at once into the nearest soft chair to recuperate.

WASN'T THIS FUN, THOUGH?

The Appleton Press, July 25, 1947