Summer Is Better With An Ice Cream Cone
Some things just belong to summer.
Sunshine.
Bare feet.
Swimming pools.
Late evenings.
And ice cream cones.
I’ve loved ice cream for as long as I can remember. In fact, some of my favorite memories from nearly every stage of life somehow involve ice cream.
When I was growing up, our family often bought Neapolitan ice cream. Looking back, it was the perfect family flavor—a little something for everyone. Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry all cozily tucked together in one carton.
While most people carefully scooped their favorite flavor, or made sure to get a beautiful array of all three, I took a heaping scoop and mixed the trio of flavors together until they became one rather unimpressive light brown color of soft serve textured delight.
It may not have looked particularly appetizing, but I thought it was delicious. Even now, all these years later, I occasionally find myself craving that exact flavor.
My true favorite, though, was always mint chocolate chip.
Or as we affectionately called it in our family, “green ice cream.”
My dad knew how much I loved it and would often buy it just for me. He also took great delight in teasing me about it because he thought it was absolutely disgusting.
To this day, my oldest son has inherited Grandpa’s strong opinions about green ice cream and joins him in happily teasing the rest of us who enjoy it.
Apparently some family traditions are worth preserving.
Ice cream wasn’t just a dessert growing up—it was woven into the fabric of family life.
One of my close friends had parents who occasionally allowed us to have ice cream for dinner.
Not a scoop.
Not a bowl.
A quarter gallon each.
As you might imagine, this usually ended with two girls who were incredibly happy for about twenty minutes and then regretting every life choice that had led them there for the rest of the night.
Another best friend and I would walk to McDonald’s or drive through (once I got my driver license) after school and buy ice cream cones for twenty-nine cents.
Twenty-nine cents! (And actually, I even buying them for $.19 before that!)
I realize that statement officially qualifies me as old.
My parents also had a tradition of taking us out for ice cream after school performances and special events. Whether it was Dairy Queen, Baskin-Robbins, or another local favorite, ice cream became our family’s way of celebrating accomplishments both big and small.
It’s a tradition I’ve tried to continue with my own children.
Years later, when I was helping care for my grandmother during the final years of her life, I discovered that she shared my enthusiasm for ice cream.
She was always willing to stop for a treat.
One of my favorite memories is taking her to the beach with our family when my older children were still young. Somehow we ended up with ice cream cones far larger than anyone reasonably needed, and we spent the afternoon at the park laughing as melting ice cream dripped down hands faster than we could eat it.
Grandma was in her nineties by then, but she still understood one of life’s important truths:
It’s hard to be unhappy while eating an ice cream cone.
I think of her often when I’m enjoying a creamy cold dessert.
A few years ago, one of my dearest friends and I took a girls’ trip to Sweden. While Daddy stayed home to wrangle kids, animals, and the general chaos of Farmwood Hollow, we made it our mission to enjoy an ice cream cone every single day.
When my husband and I and our two oldest children later visited my parents while they were serving a mission in Italy, we were equally committed to our daily gelato habit.
Some travel souvenirs are overrated.
Memories shared over ice cream are not.
In recent years, however, ice cream has become a little more complicated.
After being diagnosed with Hashimoto’s, I made significant changes to my diet, including going gluten-free and dramatically reducing dairy.
For the most part, I’ve adjusted well. Thankfully there are a lot of good dairy free ice cream alternatives these days.
But I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss ice cream cones.
Especially the cones.
For more than two years, I hadn’t had one.
Then a week or so ago, my best friend Stephanie and I were working on our Etsy shop, Glimmerlings Hollow, at a local coffee shop. As we worked, an ice cream vendor unexpectedly set up nearby.
Stephanie offered to treat me, and I began my usual internal debate.
Should I splurge?
Would they have anything dairy-free?
Could I find something that wouldn’t leave me regretting my choices later?
Imagine my delight when I discovered they had multiple dairy-free options.
And even better…
Gluten-free cones.
Actual gluten-free cones.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been so excited about a cone.
That first crunchy bite tasted like summer.
Like childhood.
Like family traditions.
Like beach trips and after-school celebrations.
Like Grandma.
Like Sweden.
Like Italy.
Like friendship.
Like all the little moments that somehow become the memories we treasure most.
Maybe that’s why I love ice cream cones so much.
They’re never really about the ice cream.
They’re about the people we share them with.
And for me, summer will always taste a little sweeter when it’s served in a cone.
P.S. If you haven’t heard “The Ice Cream Song” written and performed by Elyse Myers you should! https://www.facebook.com/share/v/17oJvaVXGX/ & https://youtu.be/KyjQlr_LUdw?si=560sH9CYsCStV11G