Snow Cone Summer

I had a love/hate relationship with summer as a kid. My mom, however, had no qualms about her feelings. She hated summer vacation. The first couple of days were full of laughter and playing, but by the third day, she would start to hear murmurs of “I’m bored,” and wonder if she could survive another summer vacation. Mom loved us, but she did not like hearing us complain about boredom all summer.

The summer before I turned 13 was different than the others. That was when my brothers and I discovered something life-changing.

*****

I don’t remember who found the contraption. My brothers and I had been exploring our grandparents’ basement when we came across a strange table with a garbage bag draped over it. Something bulky was on the table under the bag. We peeked under the bag and saw what looked like a meat grinder bolted to the table.

My grandparents grew up during the Great Depression and never threw away anything. They recycled more than they threw away long before the word ‘recycling’ had been invented. My grandma was also a wonderful cook and the basement was filled with jars of jams, peaches, and other delicious things she’d made. Having a meat grinder stashed in the basement wasn’t too surprising, but there was something special about the machine. It almost felt like it was calling out for me to use it. We decided to ask dad if he knew anything about the grinder.

Over 30 years later I still remember the joy that entered my mind as I slowly comprehended the unexpected revelation. (By “slowly,” I mean dad had to explain how the machine worked. We were pretty sure it was a meat grinder.)

“This is a snow cone machine,” dad told us.

“A what?” (This was nothing close to what we expected.)

“A snow cone machine.”

“Really? We thought it was a meat grinder.”

“I supposed you could use it for that, but it wouldn’t do a very good job. This machine is meant to grind ice, not meat.”

“Wow! How does it work?”

He explained that you lifted up the handle, put ice in the chute, and pushed the handle back down. Then shaved ice would come out through a hole in the bottom of the table.

“Why do grandma and grandpa have a snow cone machine?” (And why was it in the basement gathering dust?)

Dad explained that his younger brother sold snow cones as a teenager. It had been stuck in the basement for several years and forgotten once my uncle moved on to other things.

Fully comprehending the possibilities, my brain started scheming.

“Dad, do you think I could use this and sell snow cones at our house?” I asked.

“Sure, if this thing still works. Let’s find out.”

I held the door open as he carried the contraption upstairs and outside. A fair amount of dust and a few spider webs had accumulated over the years, even though it had been under a garbage bag so we wiped it down. My brothers and I instinctively took a step back as dad plugged in the machine. The motor whirred to life with a metallic twang. Dad tossed a handful of ice cubes in the chute and gently pushed down on the handle. Shaved ice flowed out from the bottom of the table. I was in business!

*****

The first snow cones didn’t taste that great. We used Kool-Aid because we couldn’t wait for dad to take me to get supplies. The machine had to be tested, I told myself. My brothers readily agreed. We mixed the Kool-Aid strong to compensate for it not being actual snow cone syrup, but that didn’t help much. We ended up with watery snow cones in plastic cups. They tasted acceptable - if you were desperate for a snow cone. I’d try again when I had the correct supplies.

Once we finally had the proper supplies, I couldn’t wait to make my very own snow cones. I got the syrup ready to pump and removed several cone cups from their box. I grabbed a bag of ice and a bowl to catch the ‘snow.’ My brothers watched in excitement as the machine made short work of the ice. My mom’s ladle made a perfect scoop and soon we were carefully pumping syrup over icy domes.

Finally, a real snow cone and oh, it was marvelous! The little bits of ice tingled and tickled my lips and tongue. I loved the little crunch the ice made as I chomped it between my teeth. The flavor was vibrant and made Kool-Aid taste like water with just a hint of flavor. These snow cones were great. I was going to make a killing!

*****

When summer vacation arrived, I greeted it not with groans of boredom, but with a snow cone stand. A busy residential street ran next to our house so I strategically placed my stand in our side yard between two trees to shield me from the brunt of the Arizona sun. I was ready to introduce the neighborhood to the wonderful world of snow cones.

My first customers were my friends who knew what I was planning and already had a taste of what was to come. Money in hand, they were excited to be the first official customers.

Each day brought new customers both young and old. I took pride in making perfect snow cones for each one of them. As the summer wore on, I realized something magical was happening. When I started my business, my main motivator had been to make money. As I met more and more people, making money had slowly taken a back seat. What mattered most was that each customer got a perfect snow cone. I needed to see the smiles and stained teeth that came to the faces enjoying my snow cones. I wanted people to feel the cool refreshing ice of a snow cone tingling their tongues. I wanted to bring joy and relief to the parched desert.

It seemed that snow cones had taught me that business should not be about the money, but about the people.

*****

Many years later, whenever I see a snow cone, I smile. Not just because they taste so good, but because I’m reminded of the summer that snow cones changed a bored twelve-year-old boy in the desert.