Life's a Picnic
- Paul Baumeister
- May 1
- 3 min read
It’s May, and the unmistakable buzz of summer is already ramping up. Grills are firing, street fests are days away, and restaurants are readying their outdoor spaces for alfresco dining. Amid this warm weather energy, friends and families continue to honor the tradition of the picnic. For something that began as a French shared meal contribution system, it has become one of the world’s most enduring forms of casual outdoor social life.
My early memories of picnics are fuzzy. My father Roger’s first parish as a minister was in Tampico, Illinois, a farm town of about 600 and the birthplace of Ronald Reagan. As a four-year-old, a quintessential church social at the Tampico Methodist Church is one of my earliest memories of eating outside. That, and a vivid recollection of my mother dispatching a garter snake with a shovel.
It wasn’t until junior high and high school that picnics became something to do when the weather turned and we were unleashed from our school year commitments. Cub Scouts, YMCA summer camps, and neighborhood block parties each had a different picnic vibe. These have blurred into a stew in my collective consciousness, except for one. In a previous blog, I recounted a picnic that changed my life’s direction after I almost lost my eye.
Smaller picnic outings during the seventies with my mom, dad, and John created some of my strongest family memories. Back then, we would grab a bucket of KFC, drive down Lake Shore Drive, and head to the old band shell on the south end of Grant Park to hear the symphony. Setups were basic. We sat on our asses, listened to classical music, people watched, and talked as the sun set behind the ever-changing skyline. There were no wagons for gear, no anti-gravity chairs, and certainly no bourgie LED candles trying to set the mood.
I have enjoyed Independence Day picnics over the years, but one steals the show. My friend Victor invited me to watch fireworks from a secret location on the north side of Evanston’s Clark Street Beach. After picnicking, we found our spots as the sun was setting, far too close to where the pyrotechnics were being launched. During the finale, we rose to our feet and cheered. About ten seconds in, a chunk of firework ash hit the back of my throat and made its way down my esophagus. I do not remember how the evening ended, other than coughing for a good two hours, seriously considering a trip to the ER.
There is something comfortable about picnics. They're not pretentious. You don't have to dress up. Activities are plentiful. Any food brought is appreciated – veggie samosas carried us for years. They can host hundreds of people or just one person enjoying a sunny patch of grass. Picnic memories are some of the best of my life. A sampling from my worn photo box includes the following shots:
For me, picnics are about nostalgia. The retro games are fun (we played Jarts and four square at last year’s Greenland Sharks picnic). And the food…burgers and hot dogs, chips and dips, fruit salad and deviled eggs still hold their place. For a few hours, everyone seems to live in the present moment. Maybe that is the real point of a picnic. Step out of life’s current for a bit, look around, and remember why you are swimming in the first place.
The Greenland Sharks Second Annual Picnic is May 30th on Chicago’s northwest side (same location as last year). We would love to have you and those you swim with join us.
Click here to RSVP. The specific location will be emailed.
About Greenland Sharks
Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.
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