‘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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If you have ever spent any amount of time around the sea and in waterways, you will know that the locals have their own navigational aids. In North Carolina’s Outer Banks on the island of Ocracoke you will see empty Clorox bottles bobbing in the water. You have to ask a local in order to know if the bottle marks where you should go or where not to go.

All over the Florida Keys and in the Caribbean sticks and now some PVC pipes are swaying in bodies of water, sometimes the only guide you might have.

Well, in the Upper Florida Keys there is a cut from the bay near Tavernier Creek to Cowpens** that is called Toilet Seats. It is marked with some bright-painted toilet seats and some derelict toilet seats, but all of them are clever.

My Friend Joy (from my earlier boating days in the Bahamas) and I have put several toilet seats in this cut, but they have not fared too well with the blows and hurricanes that whip through the Keys.

Our toilet seat was painted with "Chloe and Joy, Eau de Toilette", weren’t we clever?

                                                                                                                                                              I remember other catchy quips painted on the seats: Ed’s Crapper; Royal Flush; Pottying in the Keys; Baron’s Throne; Louise and Tammy’s Turd’le; Doug and Vickie’s Hook, Line and Stinker and others that the sea has claimed.  

I have to give credit to the great skipper Patrick who stopped, backed up, moved left or right for me to get just the right shot.  Thank you, Chico.

This really is folk art, and I love it! Art and the sea is thalassa therapy for this NC innkeeper.

** Years ago, natives corralled the manatees,  also known as seacows into pens for food. This area is now called Cow Pens. More local lore is that sailors long at sea looked upon the manatee as mermaids. Now do we believe that? They must have been at sea a very long time.

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When you run a Bed and Breakfast, carving out time for your personal R&R can be a challenge.  But again this year I have made my escape!  I am in Islamorada on holiday with friends Joy and Patrick .

We’re staying at the paradise home of our friends George and Louise, who have headed to Alberta in search of ducks and geese.

In my younger days I spent much of my time on a sail boat in the tropics, mainly the Caribbean. In these latitudes every day is special and the best part of the day is the sunset.

Folks stop whatever they are doing and make a toast to the sunset. We gathered at various tiki bars, boats and docks and wagered as to exactly when that great orange orb would sink below the horizon.

One skipper reckoned that each finger held at length in front of your eyes was fifteen minutes. I never won that bet, so I often paid for the drinks.

But every day I stopped and settled in to look for that Green Flash. Those who have seen it say it happens just as the sun slips into the horizon, and for a brief second a flash of green appears.

I chased the Green Flash as far south as Martinique and Guadeloupe and back up to Green Turtle Cay. I never saw it. I did dance in a rainbow. And here I am again in the Keys looking for that same Green Flash. I know it is real. (For all those who don’t know, "Cay" is pronounced "Key" in the islands.)

Other folks are looking too. Jimmy Buffett must believe it; he writes about the Green Flash in his adaptation of Don’t Stop the Carnival:

"For all the lost chances      

And all the lost dances

For strange circumstances

And island hoodoo

Green Flash at Sunset

Young love recaptured

Just an illusion?

What if it were be true?" 

Chloe…and I think it’s true.

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