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After many years, I thought I'd share my story about Bush Summer Sausage.

Every week my mother would walk me to the different shops just off Gunnison where we got the usual staples for the family. We were mom and dad, 2 older brothers, an older sister, and 2 younger brothers. My older siblings were in school and the younger ones stayed at home with Auntie Martha. I was just 3 years old.

There was the grocery store where I got a fried and powdered dough delicacy called a cruller, the hardware shop where the clerk gave me all the miscut keys, and the butcher that supplied a delectable variety of fish, fowl, and meats. There was also Summer Sausage, and sometimes the family was lucky enough to enjoy a bit of it for a special treat.

1965 was the year I turned 4. Dad took a job in a far-away place called Pennsylvania. I still recall the first meal, at a Howard Johnson. Being a very picky eater I insisted on a summer sausage sandwich. No such thing. A sympathetic waiter seemed to understand the plight and happened to have a lebanon bologna sandwich in his lunch bag and gave it to me. It made me happy but it just wasn't the same.

When Grandma Maire came to visit once a year she brought a summer sausage with her and once again we could each enjoy a nice thick hand-cut slice. There was enough for a family including 8 kids to have a chunk or 2 but when it was gone it would be another year before Grandma come with the special gift. Mom and dad also got something special, Bush Thuringer... but the kids weren't allowed to have any (I admit, now, to stealing a slice or 2). Time moved on, brothers and sisters moved away or got married, and that wonderful summer sausage had been almost forgotten.

Then, as I was enjoying my own 2 daughters I began to wax nostalgic about Chicago and tell them how things were when I was a child, and the story would not have been the same without summer sausage. Unfortunately time had done it's job, Grandma had died and nobody I knew remembered who made that delicious treat. Finally, I found a long-estranged cousin that also recalled the summer sausage and surmised that the name was Bushes. With that bit of information I found Silver Creek.

Now that mom and dad have passed and we are all older and my kids have kids I am promising to bring back the Bush Tradition for the family and introduce a new generation of your summer sausage. This year it was Thanksgiving, next year it'll be Christmas.

Merry Christmas.

Best Regards,

Paul Gobat

formerly 5918 Gunnison

Chicago