Sunday Meetin' On The Lawn

Yesterday we went to our church picnic. Although we only drove fifteen minutes from our house to get there, it felt like we had time traveled to a bygone era to enjoy an afternoon of old fashioned, down home fellowship.


For starters, despite my affection for clipping potluck pleaser recipes, I was just too short on time to manage much in the way of a covered dish. So, we dropped in at the local chicken joint on our way to the church. Hannah and I were placing our order at the counter when Ms Southern Belle herself drifted in behind us. Dripping in white battenburg lace and a sporting a wide brimmed bonnet complete with bouquets of organza flowers, she fanned herself with a takeout menu while teetering gracefully on the high heels of her white, pointy-toed, lace up, ankle boots.


"Ohhhh daaahhhlins........it is waaahhhhmmmm out they'a today," she drawled politely.


Indeed it was. Two family packs of mild flavored extra crispy assorted pieces later, we were off to church. I had my lavender floral quilt tucked under one arm and my lemon bundt cake securely fastened into my Tupperware cake tote in the other, and we were off to set up camp under the shade of a horse apple tree.


There were water games for the young ones. Sprinklers, water balloons, hoses, and even a Slip and Slide anchored to a slope. Now you just know that anyone who grew up in the 70's had a wave of nostalgia watching those kids slosh down the hill on that toy.


Moms and Dads eased into camp chairs, and many a Grandma and Grandpa hauled their aluminum framed lawn chairs with the woven vinyl seats out of their trunks. There were babies wearing nothing but diapers and smiles, and Grandpas wearing Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals. And it was glorious.


Oh, the food. Tables upon tables set up under plastic tarp awnings. Every conceivable variation of macaroni salad, baked beans, and ambrosia. And chicken by the bucket load. (Apparently we weren't the only ones short on time.) We drank cold lemonade and chatted with friends and enjoyed the feeling of cold, wet hugs from our kids. And it was glorious.


Then a bunch of teenage boys encouraged my hubby to join in their game of Ultimate Frisbee. Hubby is a fiercely competitive guy when it comes to sports. No amount of Bengay can account for his behavior on that Frisbee field. He will not be able to touch his toes for the next eight days, but he stood his ground against those young boys and showed them how the game was played.


Frisbees soared, sprinklers sprayed and sputtered, breezes swayed through the leaves of the huge shade trees, friends mingled, and laughter filled the lawn. It was just a glorious day.


But some of us were just too pooped to picnic....