Opening day at the Dairy Queen always occurred near the end of May. It was a much anticipated rite of spring in the rural southwestern Minnesota town where I grew up.
Then, during the early 1950s, even having a Dairy Queen in your community was a huge deal. Franchised eateries were new at the time. They were just beginning to show up in our flat agrarian countryside, where they often seemed grossly out of place.
Our population was around 4,000. Several tiny hamlets with general stores and machine shops patronized by local farmers were close by.
The DQ was the first in our area. It was situated on the outskirts of town just off the main highway. Corn fields surrounded the little building with the red roof and the large parking lot. Grazing pastures could be seen off in the distance.
Until the Dairy Queen came along, the town drug store soda fountain was the only place to get an ice-cream cone or a sundae. Not surprisingly, the DQ regularly drew huge crowds on warm summer days.
I of course dearly loved the little white DQ cone with the curl on top, plus the novelty of just going there with my parents. It was a delightful outing destination for a Sunday afternoon country drive. I had my first banana split there to celebrate my 14th birthday.
The DQ opening coincided with another cherished rite of spring for kids: The all-school picnic celebrating school closing for the summer!
The picnic always took place the last Friday of May, just following the last day of school, which was on Wednesday.
On Thursday, when we were in senior high school, we trooped back to school one final time to clean out our lockers and also to take some college exam courses.
The building was so quiet. No bell ringing to end classes, nor kids noisily tromping through the halls patrolled by teachers trying to keep things orderly.
Instead, we just sat at a desk in a classroom answering multiple choice questions on forms. Then we left, passing our empty lockers and went home. The whole experience felt oddly exhilarating, yet somehow sad.
But the picnic the next day was joyous. Yippee! School was officially out for the summer.
Some sort of rag tag softball game was pulled together between faculty members and kids. There was a wienie roast with picnic food, including Cokes and Orange Crush pop, provided by the school.
It felt good, being there in the wooded park, which stood alongside our one and only lake. Some of us couldn’t resist tiptoeing into the water, which was still cold. I enjoyed seeing everyone from my class, some for the last time till school began again in September. But I knew I’d see my fellow band members very soon at the final Rite of Spring: the Memorial Day parade on May 30th.
On that day, I’d don my slightly scratchy wool uniform and plumed hat. With clarinet in hand I’d join the high school band as we played “The Stars and Stripes Forever” marching through town heading for the Memorial Day ceremony at the cemetery.
Then came June! Spring was gone and glorious summer was upon us.
Carol Hall lives in Woodbury. She’s a longtime freelance writer, a University of Minnesota graduate and a former Northwest Airlines stewardess.