My grandparents had a cottage in Sheffield, where the kids spent summers swimming and playing, dads visited on weekends and mothers went back to town on Monday to do the laundry. Aunt Flo mused that Grandma Rolf didn’t appreciate all the work involved with a cottage full of guests every weekend, and I can sympathize after watching a clip of the parade of people in and out of the cottage door. I’m sure the women visitors were as relentless in keeping up as my grandma, so the floor would be swept after sandy footed children, dishes washed, dried and put away after every meal. Nevertheless, all that food preparation! And it still would be Grandma driving laundry baskets of bedding, towels, household linens and kid’s clothing back to Cleveland every Monday to wash, hang out to dry, and possibly even to iron before schlepping it all back to Sheffield. With a week’s groceries on the seat, too.
All the guests appear to enjoy the cottage. There are shots of people in reclining Adirondack chairs, talking. My Grandma Rolf and another woman in a swing, sewing. The inevitable mending, I suppose. A lighthearted clip of my mother and her dad poking each other. Here’s another clip of simple fun. The young man holding open the door is mom’s brother, my Uncle Hank. The man in the office is his dad, my Grandpa Rolf. No idea who the other people may be.
As mom noted, they had hollyhocks.