***

When I applied for my grant, I was asked how I would measure the success of this project. One of the ways I would like to measure success is by composing a list of initial research questions and objectives and then gauging at the end of my project whether or not I have successfully answered those questions and achieved those objectives. As I begin this process, these are my initial questions. These may change and grow as my research goes on, but they are a starting point.

1. What is the historical timeline of Teen Mania and its Honor Academy?
   • I already know a lot about this question, but I would love to understand the history from the perspective of those who founded and developed Teen Mania.
   • If Teen Mania’s leaders were to put it on a map of all other Christian organizations, where would it fall? What organizations would be near it in terms of belief systems and goals? What organizations would it be distanced from?
   • What are the goals of the Honor Academy in terms of future growth, development, and change?
2. What is the historical timeline of the Recovering Alumni website?
   • Specifically, when did Mica decide to start the blog? What prompted her decision to start blogging about the HA?
   • What has influenced various changes in tactic, tone, and goals?
3. What makes Teen Mania so polarizing?
   • Based on the reaction I get when I say “Teen Mania” in evangelical AND non-evangelical circles, I do not buy the idea that the dissatisfied participants are small in number or proportion. So why is it that people tend to be so polarized in their response to the group?
4. How has the Recovering Alumni blog affected the ethos of the Honor Academy?
   • Additionally, how has the blog affected prospective interns and their parents? I have heard that enrollment is down significantly, and I wonder if Teen Mania credits the RA site with dropping numbers.
5. Many people have posted their stories to the RA blog, and I would like to verify certain information and accusations that have been levied against Teen Mania. Is there supporting evidence outside of the point of view of the storyteller?
6. On the other hand, Teen Mania alleges that many of the stories posted are exaggerated or issues that have long since been resolved. Are they willing to identify which specific stories they feel are untrue or misrepresentative of the truth?
7. What has been the motivation behind each of Teen Mania’s public responses to the RA community?
   • Who crafted each response, and what kind of discussion and planning went into those responses?
   • What ideas were proposed and discarded?
   • I am particularly interested in the initial letter that Ron Luce sent to the HA mailing list about Mica’s use of the alumni mailing list; the Recovering Alumni Response website; the HA stories website; the letter of support from Jack Hayford; the development of the Honor Academy Director blog; and the interviews and public responses following MSNBC’s Mind Over Mania documentary.
   • I am also interested in the semi-private responses that have been made through social media, via sites like Facebook, Twitter, and various blogs.
8. Is there anything that the stakeholders in this debate would have done differently?
   • For example, what would Honor Academy leaders have done different in terms of their response to the RA community, had they been able to anticipate the scope of the dissatisfaction?
   • What about Mica and RA community members? Would they have gone about things in a different way if they had known what to expect from Teen Mania?

***

In the next few days, I will post a call for interview subjects and information about what the interview process will be like. I appreciate all of the interest that I have already received regarding this project, and I hope to be able to talk with as many of you as possible. Please be aware that most of my research will take place in 2012, so although I hope to reply to every interested party right away, I will not be conducting most interviews for a few months.

Comments from first time commenters are put in moderation. Once approved, you will be able to comment as much as you like.

In order to provide information for those who may like to talk with me about their experiences with Teen Mania and other similar organizations, I have decided to chronicle as much as my research as possible. Through this blog, I will keep track of my research questions, information that I gather toward answering those questions, and conclusions I am able to draw from that information. All of these posts will be tagged as “Teen Mania Research.”

This will be an ambitious project. It is ambitious because this is a complicated, nuanced situation. There are complexities that are difficult for those who have never been part of Teen Mania to understand. I hope that I am able to shed light on those complexities. I do not know what the research will lead to—an article? A book? Useful content for my composition students? Nothing more than personal enrichment? I envision the results to be a work of literary journalism, although I cannot anticipate the length or scope at this point.

For those who are just now being introduced to me through this project, I want to introduce myself: My name is Liz Boltz Ranfeld. I have an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of New Hampshire, and I am an English professor at a small college in Indiana. I am mother to an almost two-year-old. I am a believer and a skeptic, a liberal Christian who is a lot more comfortable around atheists than evangelicals. That said, there are a lot of evangelical Christians in my life that I dearly love. I have been writing for as long as I have been able to hold a pencil, and my writing tends to focus on spirituality, doubt, relationships, and the bonds of family.

My involvement with Teen Mania dates back to the early 90s, when I began attending Acquire the Fire as an eleven year old. Throughout my adolescence, Teen Mania played the most important non-familial role in my life. My siblings and I went on around a dozen trips with the organization in the 90s, and my brother is a 1999 Honor Academy graduate. Because my parents were well-known in certain evangelical circles at the time, they helped raise a lot of money for Teen Mania and were vocal supporters for years.

My involvement in the organization ended when my parents decided that it was no longer physically safe to be part of Teen Mania. I hated their decision at the time, but I continued to be involved in youth missions throughout my teenage years. The experience of being a teen missionary prompted an intense period of introspection once I became an adult, and in 2011 I completed my MFA thesis, a 240-page memoir that chronicles the ways that a single summer with Teen Mania caused equal levels of growth and detriment to my faith. I am currently seeking a publisher for that book.

I have been a reader of the Recovering Alumni blog since its first month, and I consider myself a member of the community. I have tried to set boundaries to my involvement, however, because I recognize that I was never an Honor Academy intern. I support the RA community because I believe that there have been instances of systematic abuse at the HA, and I do not believe that Teen Mania has appropriately handled the criticism that has been made regarding their programming.

Some may say that this makes me a “biased” researcher, and I can see their concerns. My response would be this: my research is not an attempt to prove or disprove claims of abuse at the HA, nor is it to answer the question of whether or not Teen Mania is a cult. I believe that individuals who are inclined to believe or disbelieve those statements can come to their own conclusion by looking at the evidence that has been presented by each stakeholder in this debate. It is not my goal to convince anyone that abuse does or does not happen at Teen Mania.

Instead, my research is about discerning the truth about the complicated history of this rift. I want to understand how an organization goes from little events called Beach Bash to being a huge and reputable organization with tens of thousands of participants, and then ends up in a position in which hundreds of former alumni speak out against it as abusive. I have also read rumors that the RA blog has drastically affected enrollment, which I think would be of interest to other volunteer-based organizations that have unhappy alumni. I want to clarify the timeline of events, evaluate the role that Mica of Recovering Alumni has played, and understand the motivation behind each of Teen Mania’s public responses to the RA community, as well as the semi-public responses that have happened via social networking sites.

Future posts in this series will:

• introduce my initial research questions.
• outline my hopes for interviews.
• call for stories from Teen Mania participants of all persuasions, whether exceedingly positive about their experience, overwhelmingly negative, or some blend of the two.
• chronicle my research.

I welcome questions and feedback regarding these posts. I hope to be as transparent and public as possible as I work through this process, and I welcome your involvement.

Thank you!

***

Comments from first time commenters are put in moderation. Once approved, you will be able to comment as much as you like.

I am saddened by the lies that led to the watering down of the Affordable Health Care Act, and I am upset by the power that health insurance companies have over the lives of Americans, including my husband’s.

I am ashamed for what happened to the Wall Street Occupiers last night.

I don’t understand how Herman Cain, a man with zero political experience and a history of assaulting women, can continue to be a frontrunner in the Republican presidential race.

I hate that people seem to have more compassion for an 80-something coach who was fired for a failure of ethics than for children who were raped and abused.

I don’t comprehend the language of “take our country back.” I would much rather move our country forward, away from the evil, hateful things that are happening now.

I posted this today as a Facebook note and wanted to put it here on my blog, too.

This morning, Chalupa got Chuck out of bed and brought her to me in our bedroom. I was just getting ready to leave for work.

“HELLO!” she said. (A bit more like “’ello,” but you get the point.)

“HI!” I replied. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. “Raffe.” Which is, of course, her name for Giraffe.

“Giraffe slept well, too?”

Another definite nod from Chuck, followed by, “Ah-bee.”

“Oh, yeah, Brobee was in bed with you last night, too, huh?”

Another nod. Then her eyes widened and she pointed to the button on my sweater. “Ah-DAT!?”

“That’s a button.”

“OOOOOHHHHHHH!”

A skeptical look crossed her face, and she pointed to the sweater’s embroidered flowers. Concerned, she said, “Ah-dat?”

“That’s a flower.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“TEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“I guess it does look a little like a tree,” I agreed. The flowers are somewhat tree-like. “Honey, I’ve got to go to work.”

“NOOOOO wuuk.” Sad faced girl.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m sorry. But I can get you some breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“HUNNNNNNDY!”

“Okay, what do you want—”

“NONUT! NONUT! NONUT!” That, of course, means donut. When does this kid not want donuts?

“Can you say DO-nut?”

“NONUT!”

“Do?”

“DO?”

“NUT!”

“NUT!”

“Okay, now put it together!”

“NONUT!”

Ten minutes later, as she happily scarfed down her powdered sugar donuts in her high chair, I packed my lunch and gathered my work bags. (I have lots of work bags.)

“Nye-nye!” she said, waving to me.

“Bye-bye, baby!” I gave her a kiss on the head and went to leave.

“NOO!” she cried. “UUUGGGG!”

I turned and saw her with a donut stuffed in her mouth and her arms reached wide. “I’ll give you a hug!”

As I hugged her, she smiled broadly and showed me her powdered-sugar mouth. “NIIISSSS!” she said.

“Kisses, too.” I gave her a kiss before I left.

I didn’t notice until I was halfway to work that I had powdered sugar on my lips from a good-bye kiss.

Chatting with Chuck at her table

Matthews is a small town–if you can even call it a town–in East Central Indiana. During the years I lived in the next town over, Upland, I drove through Matthews hundreds of times. The best way to describe Matthews comes from Chalupa, who says it has a certain Children of the Corn feel to it. For me, it’s a place that creates a haunting feeling of What-Was/What-Could-Have-Been. The highway that runs the length of town (a half mile, at most) is far wider than your average country highway, all because Matthews was, at one point, the proposed next capital of Indiana. There are rumors (verified by Wikipedia, but nowhere else) that Matthews was once a bustling community with 100,000 residents. I don’t know where 99,500 of those residents disappeared to, but these days, Matthews has a population of under 600 people.

The Covered Bridge Festival, though, is something special. Held in an open field next to the Cumberland Bridge, which was built in 1877. Cars still drive across the bridge, especially during the September weekend of the Festival. It is always held the weekend after Labor Day, which makes it easy to remember. I call it the first day of the Weekend of Pork because day two takes place at the Hamilton County Volunteer Fire Department Hog Roast the next day. With tenderloins and pork chops on Friday followed by bbq on Saturday, it makes for a full weekend of pork!

There is plenty for my vegetarian friends to enjoy at the Covered Bridge Festival, though! It is not just about eating, eating, and eating. It’s about shopping!

This year was to be my first year at the festival since before moving to New Hampshire. I went to a LOT of craft fairs in NH, and none quite compare to this one. It’s part craft fair, part flea market, part country fair. Mom, her friend Rosemarie, and I packed Chuck into the car and drove up to Matthews. We stopped at a few yard sales–there are always a lot of yard sales the weekend of the festival–and got to the Festival in time for dinner.

Admission costs just $2, and parking is free.

I could explain the festival in great detail, but I think a photo gallery would be the most effective way to show you the event. Despite the fact that I have been to the Covered Bridge Festival more times than I can possibly remember, all of these photos were taken at the September 2011 fest.

Needless to say, I will be back next year.

And the year after that.

And the year after that.

And the year after that.

I just can’t resist seeing old friends, eating that good food, buying fun little trinkets, and the peoplewatching!

The Civil War is not one of those things.

It’s true that we were only one vote away from seceding with the Confederacy, but other than that, Indiana does not figure prominently in Civil War History. The folks at Civil War Indiana might disagree, I suppose, but I’d still say that we’re not known for playing a large role in that particular historical period.

However, in looking for new Indiana experiences, there was one irresistible thing: Civil War Days in Hartford City.

I’ve seen the signs for Civil War Days for years. I’ve even contemplated going. During my time at a rural Indiana college, I often drove past the event grounds on my way to my Grandma Ruthie’s house. Still, until yesterday, I had never attended Civil War Days.

My friend Elaine and I decided it was time to fix that.

Elaine is one of my best friends from college. She lives in Chicago, which isn’t too far away from where I am in Indiana, but is obviously very far from where I’ve been living in New Hampshire. The last time we got together, it was for a brief shopping excursion in Fort Wayne while I was home for Christmas. I was super pregnant with Chuck and bought myself some cute redbird earrings. That was almost two years ago.

To celebrate our reunion, we thought we would do something unusual. Civil War Days fit the bill.

We arrived in Hartford City separately. There was ample parking in the grassy field outside of the grounds, and we paid our $6 admission fee. I appreciate that their “kids are free” policy extends all the way up to four years old—I could take Chuck to this thing for free for the next three years!

As we were paying, the admission person asked, “Would you like some gold coins?” I was sad to learn that it wasn’t some sort of special currency you had to purchase to use at the event—she just meant that she had some Grant and Lincoln silver dollars available as change. Elaine took some; I didn’t.

The first thing we encountered were the fair food carts. Tenderloins, funnel cakes, hot dogs—all the usual stuff. We decided to order a baker’s dozen mini-donuts and some mini-corn dogs. I’m not sure that they really needed to advertise by stapling mini-donuts and mini-corn dogs to a board outside the food truck, because I’m pretty sure the description of the food is effective enough on its own, but that’s how they promoted the food.

The mini-donuts, to my surprise, were topped with an assortment of sauces, powders, and sugars. They were delicious. Every fair should have mini-donuts like this. In fact, every restaurant should have mini-donuts like this!

After the food carts, we walked down a little hill into the shopping part of Civil War Days. There were plenty of spectators like us in our street clothes, but also many, many people in full Civil War clothing. Some were walking around, others were on horses, a few were giving presentations, and quite a lot of them were selling stuff. It was a bit like the sort of stuff you might find at any Indiana craft fair or small town festival, but it definitely skewed toward Civil War-era. There were dressmakers, leather workers, blacksmiths, weapons-makers, and people selling stuff like clay marbles (see: unglazed balls of fired ceramic) and antique scissors.

Of course, I loved it.

I didn’t have any money to buy souvenirs, but I did take Chuck to hear a dude who sounded suspiciously like Zach Galifianakis perform as Brigadier General John Buford. He told of his involvement at the Battle of Gettysburg, and then he signed autographs for the children. Chuck carried his portrait with us for the rest of the day. She looked so proud of herself for winning such a great prize!

After the shopping, Elaine and I walked into the Union camp pushing Chuck in her stroller.

Where did all of these people come from? Lines and lines of white tents trailed through the field. All of these people were camping at Civil War Days, and it appeared that all of their camp gear, clothing, furniture, blankets, and everything else were as authentic as they could make them. They were cooking their sausage and griddle cakes in cast iron skillets. They were laying in the shade, napping in big groups. The women wore hoop skirts, and the men carried their rifles.

There were log cabins at the back of the property, where we picked up our “pay” at the pay station (Chuck got another price—a three cent note), peeked into the root beer-serving saloon, ran into a few people I know from childhood and college (spectators, not particpants), and talked to some of the people in costume.

We walked somewhat uncomfortably through the Confederate camp after that, and I wondered what would make a person come to a Civil War reenactment camp and choose to be a Confederate family/soldier.

We left before the 2:00 battle demonstration, but only because Chuck was starving and I was getting close to it. Plus, our friend Lana, who does not care for historical reenactment events, was waiting for us to pick her up for lunch. As we headed out, the Confederate soldiers were starting to make formations and march toward the big open field between their tents and the Union soldiers’ tents.

I’ve got to say, I would go back to this thing. I would love to go back with my nieces and nephews sometime, especially as they get old enough to poke around and ask questions. The only real drawback was that I couldn’t tell who was supposed to be answering questions, and who was just participating. Usually, when I’m camping, I don’t go peering into other people’s campsites, and yet that seemed to be the purpose of this particular event. I don’t imagine myself becoming a Civil War re-enactor, but I will definitely go back next year and try to catch one of the battles!

But Sara was still shocked. “You have to come! It’s a family tradition!”

The truth in that statement is that for the past two years, my family has gotten together to camp over Labor Day weekend. Two years ago, they camped in Mom’s backyard. One year ago, they camped at some tiny lake in Ohio. Those years, there were seven adults and two kids. Her “family tradition” claim, then, is a bit weak to say the least.

This year, Mom had made reservations at Clifty Falls State Park, about 120 miles from where I grew up near Muncie.  She had reserved the campsites in May—one had electricity, one did not.

“OF COURSE YOU HAVE TO COME!” Sara insisted.

“OF COURSE YOU HAVE TO COME!” my brother Phil demanded.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE NOT COMING?” my sister Karen said incredulously.

Only Mom seemed to understand that a camping trip with my entire family (now eight adults and five children) might be a bit too much to tackle, especially after starting a new job.

But they wore me down, my troublemaking siblings, and somehow I ended up buying all of the snacks for the trip on Thursday afternoon, packing my bag late Thursday night, and heading to Clifty Falls after my last class on Friday. Chuck had gone down with Mom earlier in the day. Sara and her husband Landon picked me up outside of my office building, and suddenly it occurred to me that I didn’t even have my own car. If the trip was awful, I wouldn’t even have the option to leave.

I’m about to tell you why camping in Clifty Falls was the biggest mistake of my summer.

This photo of Clifty Falls State Park is courtesy of TripAdvisor

* * *

BUT FIRST! A brief review of the park itself: great campground, clean bathrooms, lots of space at each campsite, reliable electricity, beautiful scenery, several playgrounds, reasonable costs, firewood and ice available most hours of the day, great little town of Madison nearby.

That’s all I can tell you about the park itself, because I didn’t get to see any more of it. Why? Because my family chose the STUPIDEST WEEKEND EVER to go camping.

Our substantially large campsite on the electric loop

Friday Night

Welcome to Clifty Falls, where it is ninety degrees in the shade, and most of the family will be arriving after dark to set up their tents in anger and frustration. Friday night is hot, sticky, and hard work. Mom has already set up the pop-up, and I have explained that I will be taking one of the camper beds. I figure if they want me on this trip, they’d better let me sleep where I want to.

Mom grills burgers and hot dogs over charcoal, and Chuck refuses to eat anything other than grapes. When it is time for bed—before Karen and Rajeev arrive with their kids, and before Phil and Emily arrive with their baby—Chuck manages to fall off the camper bed and bang up her poor little head. Oh, does she cry! I hold her and cuddle her until she finally gets sleepy enough to doze off in the little tent I got for her. For the rest of the weekend, I will zip that darn thing up before I leave her alone in it.

It’s hot, but we sleep well in the camper. The rest of the family arrives and, despite Phil’s initial anger at being put at the non-electric site, everyone settles in. We’ve heard it’s going to be a hot one tomorrow.

Comforting Chuck after her fall

Saturday

ONE HUNDRED DEGREES.

Chuck and I get up early, before anyone else, and our walk around the campground is the only part of the day that we’re not sweating.

Later, Phil says my little girl looks like she should be in a photograph from the Great Depression. She squats in the dirt under a tree, her hair in a pontytail on the very top of her head. She wears nothing but a diaper that is covered in dirt and mulch. Her head is bruised and scabby from last night’s fall, and she has smeared dirt across her face when she has wiped away the sweat.

Chuck trying to stay cool in the shade (this was before I finally just had her go around naked)

Five-year-old Arya, my niece, had been tasked with packing toys for her brother and her to play with. She brought a suitcase full of stuffed animals. In retaliation, two-year-old Alex throws himself to the ground at one point, pulling his wrist out of socket. My sister and her husband end up taking him to a nearby med center after he doesn’t stop being sad about it for an hour, but praise the Lord! He is miraculously healed by a nap in the car!

Five kids, none of them older than five.

Eight adults, all of us tired of the heat.

Screw this, we think. Let’s go to the movies.

And we do.

Chuck's first-ever trip to the movie theater

Sunday

So it has already been a hundred degrees on one day of our camping trip. What could make it more enjoyable? How about a day of non-stop rain?

I shouldn’t say non-stop. It frequently stops raining JUST long enough that I dare to go out of the camper and set up my little camp chair, right in time for the heavens to open again. Once or twice I even try to ignore the rain, pretend it’s not happening.

Of course I end up soaked.

Keeping the babies dry in the camper

It’s a good thing I borrowed a project from work and unhooked my computer speakers. My equipment combined with Rajeev’s computer means we get to spend a chunk of the rainy afternoon watching Toy Story 2 projected onto a sheet on one side of the pop-up. It keeps the kids happy, and I get to read approximately two pages of a book I’ve been wanted to read for months.

I also grade a few student papers.

In the evening, just before sundown, Mom and I finally make our way to Big Clifty Falls, where there is, evidently, a waterfall. I don’t see a waterfall, but I do see some beautiful hills and trees. Chuck sees a playground.

Chuck and me checking out Big Clifty

We make it back to the campsite in time for dinner to be served in the camper. Phil and Landon have cooked smoked sausage, green beans, and potatoes over the fire, and they bring the pans of food inside. Their clothes and hair are soaked through. We assign the kids seats and tell them not to move.

We eat green beans.

“Arya, you need to sit still!”

We eat sausage.

“Alex, please stay right here.”

We eat potatoes.

“Chuck, please just eat SOMETHING. I’m begging you.”

Avoiding the rain at dinnertime

My brother’s wife takes their daughter and heads back home to Columbus, Ohio—Phil will leave with us tomorrow. Suddenly Mom and I have a new body in the camper with us for the night. When Sara and Landon discover that their tent has flooded, they join us, too. Two adults and a baby in the camper has turned into five adults and two babies.

SOMEONE STEALS ALL MY BLANKETS! Because the temperature drops to forty-five in the night, I wake everyone up at two in the morning and demand a blanket. Where was everyone hiding these blankets they all seem to pull from their beds and give to me?

The rest of the night goes just fine.

Monday

WHY THE HELL IS IT THIS COLD? Fifty-five degrees as we wash our dishes and dump our charcoal and pack up the camper.

We load ourselves into cars and drive back to Muncie.

Our weekend at Clifty Falls is over at last. We’re all a little bruised, a little tired, and a little mad at each other.

All worn out and dressed in anything I could find that would keep her warm.

It’s a good thing I like these people so much. I might actually be willing to go back next year. IF and only if the weather is going to be perfect.

And I still get my spot in the camper.

Matthews Covered Bridge Festival

Hamilton Co. Volunteer Firefighters' Hog Roast

I’ll also be camping in Clifty Fall State Park for the first time and posting my review of the ice cream and sandwich place Cammack Station.

But if you want to get technical, I’m actually from Albany, Indiana.

Albany has fewer credentials. Its claim to fame, according to Wikipedia, is a series of car shows held in the parking lot of the local McDonald’s. It has an elementary school, a few churches, a Pizza King, and, since I’ve been living in New Hampshire, a brand new Subway. Of its less than 2500 residents, 98.4% are white. That’s it. Those are the only noteworthy things I can tell you about Albany.

There are some non-noteworthy things, though. Some fun little details.

There is a Five and Dime store on Main Street where my friend Libby and I used to stock up on cheap candy and plastic jewelry. There is a park that is perfect for loitering high school students who have taken a half day. There is a smoky old diner and a hardware store and a gas station that sold, according to my grandfather, “the best pork tenderloin in the state.” There is also the Diary Dream.

I know that some little towns don’t have drive-thru and walk-up ice cream parlors of their own, but that is sad. Even puny little Albany has one, and it’s pretty great. The other night, when Chuck was in a good mood (something kind of rare since our move, as she’s having a pretty hard time adjusting), I suggested to Mom that we drive over to the Dairy Dream for ice cream. How could she resist? We put Chuck in the carseat and headed down highway 67 until we saw a sign that has been there for years.

Say hello to St. John’s Dairy Dream!

The Dairy Dream, SR 67, Albany, Indiana

If you follow the link to their website, you’ll see that the shop has been owned by the St. John family since 1953. That means we have stories of my dad riding his bike from the nearby town of Dunkirk to gorge himself on a Pig’s Dinner, a banana split with four dips of ice cream and black raspberry topping. It’s still on the menu, and they still give you a congratulatory pin if you can finish the whole thing!

Pig's Dinner

I have a number of memories from the Dairy Dream. When my Grandma Ruthie used to pick us up for overnights at her house, she would often take us through the drive-thru and order us whatever we wanted. She even let us get double-scoops of ice cream! My little sister Sara would usually get bubblegum flavored ice cream, which I thought was disgusting. I always ordered mint chocolate chip. Grandma Ruthie usually picked up something for her dogs, too. Obie and Holly were often treated to a bit of vanilla soft serve, which they loved, of course.

I also remember my friend Corey working there in high school. He was a good ice cream server! He said it was always really hot in there, though, and so I always try to tip my ice cream dipper. I mean, they’re sweating away so I can enjoy something cold and delicious on a hot day? They deserve a tip!

The Dairy Dream is a walk-up style ice cream shop with multiple windows for ordering. The service was pretty fast the other night. The workers wear brightly tie-dyed shirts, like they have for as long as I can remember. I wonder if Dad knows whether or not they were wearing tie-dyed shirts when he was riding his bike over there as a kid.

Working on a Slushie

I ordered my go-to ice cream choice, a single dip of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream. Considering I haven’t been there in years, I’m pretty happy that it tastes exactly the same as I remember it. Their servings aren’t particularly large, but the ice cream is rich and always very, very cold.

One Dip of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

Mom hadn’t eaten yet, so she ordered cheese fries. I will admit, they were less than impressive. Then again, I am a bit of a cheese fries snob. Chalupa is even worse than me about cheese fries snobbery, so I won’t be recommending these to him. If you like the whole processed cheese goop stuff, this might be for you.  .but I think next time I go there for food, I’ll probably try out a sandwich instead. The cheese fries do seem like the sort of thing a person might take to a baseball game at the little league diamond right across the way from the Dairy Dream.

Chili Cheese Fries

Chuck enjoyed her chocolate/vanilla twist cone-in-a-cup. We ate at the picnic tables they have sitting off to the side of the property, which were appropriately clean and tidy. I ran into an old friend from high school, so even the company was good as we enjoyed our ice cream. There were plenty of people in line. The elementary school playground is just a hundred or so yards away, so it’s a fun place to go in the summer if you have kids who want to run around and play. Chuck, of course, doesn’t exactly “run around” yet, so she was happy to sit in her stroller and play with rocks. My kind of girl.

I’m thinking that as I continue to blog about things you can do in Indiana, I’m going to create some sort of ranking system for how fun or interesting the activity is, as well as how uniquely Hoosier it is. The Dairy Dream certainly isn’t unique to Indiana, but I will say that it’s a fun excuse to leave the house and go eat ice cream. Maybe I want to go back tonight!

Walk-Up Style with Drive-Thru