Are we the only ones who start thinking about way-back-when every time summer rolls around? Maybe it's because it's our chance to relive the magic of breaks from school, when we'd live at the community pool or beach with the only downer hanging over us being the dreaded summer reading list. (The Good Earth? In seventh grade? Why?) So now's the chance to revisit the glory days via sweet treats with a retro twist. Gelatin salads, creamy trifles and icebox cakes or just an excellent cherry pie. They all had our hearts back then, so let's bring them back now and capture some of that summer vacation magic at your next backyard barbecue.

Though apple pie has largely earned its crown as the American-est, we'd argue that cherry pie qualifies as just as American — but summer version. (Serve it on a gingham tablecloth, as pictured, and you can practically see the gum-cracking diner waitress dishing it up.) This version starts with frozen cherries, so you're welcome for those 20 minutes of your life you just gained back from skipping the pitting process. Store-bought pie crust, too, makes this recipe a cinch, so you can get it in the oven fast.

We might have inherited the trifle dessert from the British, but this version definitely declares independence! Go ahead and treat yourself and just buy the angel food cake, because it makes assembling this quicker than even shopping for the ingredients. Those berry juices and cream will meld in the fridge and yield a cool summer treat that is light and delicious.

Depending on how you look at it, ambrosia is real retro, as in, back to the ancient Greeks. They gave this name to the food that the gods ate, a food so supernatural and wonderful, it couldn't be understood by mortal terms. Though these days an ambrosia has come to mean all sorts of things, using all sorts of fruits, marshmallows, gelatin in wild colors, etc., Kardea Brown's version is quite faithful to the ambrosia recipes that began to proliferate in the 1800s. (Okay, the marshmallows might be a more modern addition, but we're not mad at them.)

We have lagging Jell-O sales in the 1960s to thank for the invention of the poke cake in the 70s, and we think the world is a little better for it. It's an ideal summer cake — cakey but also so light and cool to eat. The cake's name implies exactly what you'd think. After baking, poke holes all over its surface, then pour gelatin over the top (in this case, strawberry-flavored). It firms up in the fridge, and then you top it with fresh cream and macerated berries. How did we ever stop making poke cake, is the real question?

Though popularized in the Depression for yielding a 3-layer cake from one batter, this dessert has a fancy pedigree: It's French. That's right, its birth name is "gâteau magique," and it truly feels like a bit of witchcraft; the batter transforms into a layer of cake, a puddingy center and crisp top right in the oven — without you having to do anything to make it happen. Our version incorporates berries, because hey, they're good right now.

Here, Ina gets her Betsy Ross on, but with respect to Ms. Ross, in much less time than it takes to sew a flag. The base is an ideal vanilla cake, slicked with a cream cheese frosting that's just the right amout of sweet. Some fresh berries dress it up for the holiday.

When the heat is really intense, icebox pie brings you relief two times. It keeps the kitchen cool while you assemble it (no baking), and it keeps you cool when you're eating it. As for the flavor, the mint-and-chocolate combo takes its name from the Grasshopper cocktail, a bright green, questionable drink that we, regardless, absolutely drain right to the bottom every time.

The pretzel salad that emerged from the Midwest in the 1960s had as much to do with actual salad as anything else that ever emerged from a gelatin mold. The classic was a layer of pretzels, a layer of sweet cream cheese in the style of a cheesecake and a layer of strawberries. This version is ready for the 4th, with blue gelatin and a mix of blue and red berries.

If your friends already refer to you as "extra," treat them to a dessert that's truly over-the-top. These start as individual pastries that call to mind a certain toastable breakfast tart, but if a domestic goddess made them. Then, as that goddess would never be satisfied by just a beautiful pastry, you sandwich vanilla ice cream between them.

Remember push-up pops? The versions from the ice cream man tended to be simple affairs, cardboard columns filled with cylinders of orange sherbet. But in a real "hold my beer" moment, maybe we should say "hold my push-up pop!" because these are the kind of over-the-top cute that might make eaters explode with delight. Don't worry; you don't have to be an expert miniaturist to pull these off. We'll walk you through the way to transform a lot of candies you recognize plus some blue gelatin into pushable magic.

We love this take on the push-up pop, too. It's so easy to assemble, yet so bonkers cute. Raspberry and coconut sorbet concoct the pop (the blue layer is just coconut plus a few drops of color), and they're topped with little star-shaped cutouts of pineapple. A little suggestion of piña colada, a whole lot of tasty patriotism.

Though people have been flavoring snow with honey and fruit for as long as there was civilization, the origin of the actual snow cone is a hotly contested fact, pun intended. Many American states claim to have invented it, but by the 1920s, you could order a snow cone at state fairs across the map. Our flavoring syrup couldn't be simpler. Choose any flavor you like and get ready to let it snow.