I miss our big family get togethers from when I was little.
It doesn’t matter where. From my great Granddaddy’s to my Great Aunt’s to my Granny’s to Mama’s. I loved them all. The hustle and bustle of activity, tables or counters or stovetops groaning, laden with all kinds of good foods–and some that I wasn’t so fond of, but it didn’t matter. In that setting, a no thank you helping was palatable. Sweet foods were piled on the plates next to the casseroles. Some casseroles were having an identity crisis and could have passed for both. (Pineapple cheese casserole, I’m looking at you.) They had all the goodies of a church potluck, but these were even better–they were with our very own people.
I am still not quite sure how Granny fit all of us in her little house. But she did. Some folks ate at the counter that ran between the kitchen and the living room. Others ate at the card tables she set up for folks in front of the couch with chairs on the other side. Still, how her four children, their spouses and all the grands fit in there, it boggles my mind. Never mind how she prepared enough food for all of us. It was so good that you had to work not to eat too much, because tucked away in the back bedroom–first known as the “Cold Room” and then the “Pretty room” after its denim and red bandana curtain/bedding makeover–was all of the homemade candy Granny had been preparing. Divinity, buckeyes, Marth Washingtons…..oh my land. I just gained ten pounds sitting here drooling over the memory. I’m pretty sure Granny’s love language must have been food. If you left hungry, it was your own fault.
Gatherings with my Mama’s side of the family took place first at my Great Grandaddy’s house. He had a big table, so we’d all gather round the table piled high with food. What I remember the most from their house was breakfast before dawn (Granddaddy was a retired probate judge and farmer)–biscuits and red-eye gravy. Excuse me, while I wipe away a tear. Those things were melt in my mouth GOOD. For dessert a four layer cake with lemon cheese icing was a given.
After Granddaddy passed, we’d gather at my Great Aunt’s house. I think she’s on my mind especially today as it’s her birthday. A few years back I planted a yellow rosebush on her birthday because they were her favorites. I expect later on I’ll go cut one and bring it inside and smile at all the ways she shaped who I am.
I was beyond thrilled the year I was deemed old enough to go get the extra leaf for her table. She and my Great Uncle had a lovely table, but what with it being just the two of them, they usually kept it as a small round table. As we all arrived, there would be a conversation as to how many leaves we needed–one or two. Then someone would go fetch the required number of leaves carefully from under my Great Aunt’s bed.
Oh my, what a precious moment. The gently gliding it out from under the bed, wrapped in its sheet. Then the careful unwrapping and folding the sheet and placing it aside for later. I carried it upright with both hands through two doorways, calling out to my siblings with a voice that near trembled with the weight of my responsibility, “Move please. Step out of the way. Don’t bump me.” I could NOT hit the walls or doorway with this treasured piece. The process of dropping it in place and securing it always fascinated me. After it was all together, it was time to set the table and watch my Great Uncle fry up the okra. That and my Great Aunt adding almond slivers to the snap beans or a casserole or two were the finishing touches before we sat down to eat.
These days such gatherings are few and far between. I miss there being more people than I can count, but knowing every face I saw. I miss the ritual of preparing for the people. It was sacred, a moment of reverence, of appreciating and honoring and creating a place for each one gathered there. Each one mattered. Each one had a spot at the table, the card table, or the counter. And in our hearts.
Today I’m thankful for these memories. For the hush in my heart when I remember sliding the leaf out from under the bed and feeling the beautiful wood. For the taste of foods I haven’t eaten in years. For the smiles and laughter and “scooching” over just a bit to fit in one more person. Because there was always room for just one more. Most of all, I’m thankful for my Daddy’s sisters who have continued this tradition in their own way. Who continue to set a place and gather us all close. The words “thank you” just don’t seem enough. But I do appreciate them so much.
May you all find yourselves in need of an extra leaf or a card table–surrounded by the people you love.
Love to all.