Trares
In our household, we’re gearing up for my favorite holiday of the year.
No, we haven’t dragged out the pumpkins, scarecrows and other Halloween decor from the garage. And the holiday trees, lights and stuffed reindeer remain packed away in boxes.
Still, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Labor Day weekend is finally here.
I realize that sounds absurd to most people. Sure, Labor Day is a nice three-day weekend at the end of the summer. And of course it has deeper meaning — the holiday was established by the labor movement of the late 19th century to pay honor the contributions and importance of this country’s workers.
But more than any of that, this weekend means so much more to me.
First off, we’re served up a smorgasbord of college football. It’s the opening weekend of my favorite sport — I refuse to count the meager Week 0 games we were given last week. The action starts on Thursday night and continues all the way to Monday. Since January, I’ve been like a man trudging through the deserted sports landscape in search of water. Five days of college football is my oasis.
Anthony and I are already getting excited for Ohio State’s big game against Notre Dame tonight. We’ve been practicing some trick plays in the backyard in anticipation.
Tied into that are years of memories of Labor Days past that are among the most joyful of my life.
For a good chunk of my childhood and early adult years, my family had a cottage on Lake George, a small body of water on the Indiana-Michigan border. As a kid, it was a place to spend the day swimming with neighboring friends, enjoy nightly cookouts and sit around the campfire.
The lake was more a place to escape. Our group of neighbors was tight-knit, and as I got older, we’d spend hours playing cards, listening to music and throwing horseshoes. I would wager that I’ve never laughed as hard as during some of those late nights of euchre, or cheered as loudly after someone hit a ringer to win a marathon horseshoes match.
Labor Day was the centerpiece of the year. It was typically the last weekend that you could count on everyone being together at the lake. So to celebrate, we would have a neighborhood-wide party. The social planners in the group would invite dozens of people, assign appetizers, side dishes, desserts and beverages, and arrange for tables to accommodate everyone.
But the main draw of the entire event was the roasted hog, the preparation of which was its own event. In the dead of night, we’d pile into the back of a pickup truck and drive out to a local farm to pick up the frozen hog. Upon returning, we’d throw the hog on the massive black charcoal grill and wait.
The process of slow-roasting the pig took hours, and people would stay up all night long to keep watch — which basically consisted of playing cards and enjoying a beer or two while making sure the temperature was consistent. We’d come up with ridiculous games to stay occupied; the college-aged kids in the neighborhood always had something creative in mind.
Some would drift off to sleep only to return later to keep up the vigil. All through the following Sunday, the smell of smokey pork was inescapable around us.
And finally, when it was done, the dads and grandfathers would carve the hog up.
There was nothing more delicious than that pork. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
Filled to the brim with food, we finished out the weekend with campfires, maybe a final swim, and a few last games of euchre. The next day, everyone would say goodbye until the following spring. It was a perfect capstone to the summer.
Our family sold our cottage a few years ago. The Labor Day tradition has changed, but I’ve tried to keep a version going with my family. Sometimes we get carryout barbecue, and play yard games in the backyard.
Anthony gets to make s’mores and stay up late and run around the sun. Just like I used to do.
Things aren’t quite the same. But like my childhood Labor Days, I’m hoping that being together with family and friends helps make memories in a similar way for Anthony.
It will be a great weekend. As long as Ohio State wins.
Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
