"Picnic Day" written by an unknown author was published during pre-Baby Boomer days in the October 1945 edition of The Yarn Spinner, a monthly newsletter by and for employees of the Broadalbin Knitting Mill in Broadalbin, NY. Picnics were commonplace in those days and a trip to the city or a summer resort was a special occasion. Sacandaga Park (along the Great Sacandaga Lake) in Upstate New York was a very special place. For the entire village to travel there for a picnic was a very special occasion indeed.
If you recall--some years ago, there was a day that we all know. When all the churches in the town, a picnic planned--of vast renown. All the clergy toiled and worked, no one shirked. Their respective flocks did make salads, goodies, pies and cake.
The village fathers, everyone, went together for the fun. The village band did strut and play, in suits of Black and Gold array.
No one stayed in the town, everyone was picnic bound. We kids were put into the tub, washed, scoured, cleaned and scrubbed.
Then we would don our Sunday best be it cotton suit or silken dress. And sit right down upon a chair while our elders would prepare. They, like us, would soon appear all slicked up--the time was near.
With picnic baskets in our hands, we started for the promised lands. Down the street we went so gay, everyone was on their way. The train was in--right on the track. No one now could hurry back.
The whistle blew so hard and shrill, we hurried down the Beimus Hill. People standing all around. Bundles, baskets on the ground. Old No. 9 would wheeze and puff, with all that crowd--goin' was tough.
While in the coach, we made big plans of what to do--clapped our hands. Sacandaga Park--all safe at last--right from the train, we hurried fast. To see the Bear--so big and black. We gazed at him and he gazed back.
We had so many things to do, we must go on and hurry too. We see the donkeys in the shade, ice cream, candy and lemonade. The Roller-coaster--House of Fun--Shooting Gallery--we shoot a gun, roller skating and swimming too. Everything we kids could do.
Merry-Go-Rounds and don't disdain, Sport Island and a Tiny Train. The mornings gone and we must climb, back up the hill covered with pine, to picnic tables and what a feast fit for King and Queen at least.
Eating is over and then more fun, away we go upon a run. Ball games, swimming and if you're slow, you can go to a Picture Show. The day is running out of time and soon again we get in line. Hot dogs, candy popcorn, too. We're ready now--to break in two.
Our elders eat and laugh and talk, while we lie down or feebly walk. Back to the train, we're homeward bound, tired as a hunting hound. We squash balloons and cinders fly. Someone had one in his eye. All this goes on until we're back.
We leave the train and cross the track, and look up that old Beimus Hill. It looked so steep--we got a chill. We're tired out, our moneys spent, yet we're not sorry we went.
Both young and old can gladly say, it surely was a Picnic Day!
Source: The Lamplighter, Broadalbin Kennyetto Historical Society newsletter, June 2009
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