‘Bet you never even heard of Dinner on the Ground. Sadly, it has been called a fading tradition. It seems these days I look up and things I thought would always be there are gone or leaving.  Dinner on the Ground is one of them.

But for now they are still with us.  For many years it has been the tradition of southern, country churches to have a week-long revival that ended on Sunday with a great celebration and homecoming.

Folks came from everywhere for this big feast.  Dinner on the Ground only happens in the fall and often we attended several special events throughout Eastern North Carolina:  Macedonia, Piney Grove, Maple Grove and Smithwick’s Creek Primative Baptist.

My favorite of the foods was fried peach jacks, and I knew right where to find them. Fannie H.* and Miss Mintie both made wonderful jacks. Miss Mintie’s daughter-in-law Charlotte, keeps up the tradition. 

One year someone actually made homemade moon pies. You could find collard greens galore, Brunswick stew, cornbread, fried chicken, banana sandwiches (for the children), sweet potato pies, barbecue, succotash, all kinds of pickles and more cakes than have ever been in one place. Lots of sweet tea is always served. 

Every southern woman must have a deviled egg plate, and this is a time when you should use it.  

There will be much declaring and reckoning as in "I declare it is hot and I reckon it was cooler last year."  "Bless his heart" will be heard many times.  

After church is over folks rush out and spread the feast on a table made of chicken wire that is strung between tall oak trees. If the trees aren’t positioned just right, then a tractor will do just fine. There are often two or three tables made of chicken wire that are each a block long. Every family spreads a tablecloth over a spot (same spot every year) and puts the food out. Then folks graze up and down the table, visiting and eating.

I am glad to have enjoyed these wonderful events. I am also happy to live in the "country" where we love and linger with our traditions. The church of my youth still has Dinner on the Ground; and for that I am very happy.

All of the photos were taken at the same church, almost sixty years apart. Photo at right is my dad Ops, taken in 1948 or ‘49, at Macedonia’s Dinner on the Ground, after all the food was taken away. That is my mother Chloe loading the car. Photo below is my brother John and me (with the very short skirt).

Maybe some traditions will stick around.

 Chloe

* Fannie’s Peach Jack recipe is forthcoming

(Photo credit: Barney Conway, Jr. for the color photos. I figure Barney’s dad took the old black and whites.)

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Chloe announced to me several days ago that I should take a bath and make myself pretty because we were going to a special event; I didn’t really think she meant it. I don’t get out much, and we cats can be "subject to violent anxiety at any uprooting."  * 

Well, today we motored in a car into Williamston and gathered on the lawn of the Episcopal Church of the Advent. Now that I am a published author I have obligations.

Chloe told me that she went to the Blessing of the Animals at Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York City and they had giraffes, elephants, chickens, snakes and most of the animals that Moses had in his ark. I have never seen an elephant and was looking forward to seing one. I haven’t even seen a chicken. I am a wee bit disappointed that I could not see an elephant.

Anyway, there were some very poorly behaved critters at our blessing. I am dignified.  I am a cat of integrity.  I know how to act.  I did not say a word, I did not bite anybody, I did not growl. My new friend Izzy bit Susan.

Here I am with the Reverend Jim Horton and Chloe. We attended what appeared to be a Fur Ball Festival on the Feast of St. Francis, patron saint of animals, birds and the environment. I rather liked his prayer; we could all learn from St. Francis.

I have now been blessed and I have to admit I feel like a new Fur Person. I wonder if I have to do this eight more times?

 P.S. I just received a letter from one of my admirers telling me that it was Noah on the ark, not Moses. Forsooth, I could have sworn it was my namesake.

* The Fur Person by May Sarton

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This summer has been tough on me with this fur coat and my advancing years. I haven’t done much except lounge about in the shade of the bushes and under the house.

The mockingbird eats my food, I don’t care. The hummingbirds fly right up to me and I don’t move a muscle. I am practicing my “I don’t care and am not interested” attitude. I spend much time with my back turned to folks who want my attention. I have to maintain my superiority.

* Check out The Fur Person by May Sarton

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Ah, the Halcyon days of summer are coming to an end at Big Mill and that saddens me. When the green leaves turn to gold and then fall away, you can hear the whine of the train and the lonesome whipporwill. There are fewer whipporwills; that too is sad. And you just know that is a country song.

So on these last balmy nights of summer, grab a cool glass of Summer Punch, loll in the hammock and listen to the sounds of the changing season. You can hear the quiet except for the cicadas.

Summer Punch

1 quart fresh, unsweetened tea
1 46-ounce can of unsweetened pineapple juice
1/2 gallon orange juice
1 small can (6 ounces) frozen lemonade concentrate
1 can (11.3 ounces) apricot nectar…this can be found in the ethnic section or Hispanic aisle
1 liter ginger ale
Add water to taste, if you don’t add ice

Mix all ingredients and chill. Serve with mint sprigs. For parties, I make an ice ring of ginger ale to keep the punch chilled. Float orange or lemon slices in the bowl.

Yield: nearly 6 quarts

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