Notes from a messy desk….
What’s this poster on the grocery store bulletin board, adorned with rust-red leaves and orange pumpkins? Autumn has arrived – and it’s officially supper time!
Fall supper? Fowl supper? Some newfangled catchy name? Call them what you will, these events are all about coming together, enjoying hearty food, and opening hearts to support good causes. Talk about a win-win deal!
Let me be up front here. I’m more of a “fowl” than a “fall’ supper person. My roots go back to rural gatherings featuring farm raised birds; so although I appreciate ham, meatballs and other assorted proteins, if turkey with stuffing isn’t an option, something is lost in the translation. A fowl supper simply calls to my heart (and my stomach) in a way a fall supper never can. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just history.
I admit to having been spoiled in that regard by childhood gatherings spent getting re-acquainted with seldom seen cousins and other relatives in the fall. Preferences for drumsticks, neck bones, or white/dark meat were discussed, among other things. The adults were great for “Oh my! Is that little Charlie? When did he get so tall? I remember him when….” We kids would start out shyly at at mom’s side, but it wasn’t long until the mothers were busy in the kitchen and the fathers tackling table and chair setup, so we antsy pants young ones got shooed outdoors. Running around the grassy community hall property, into and out of the nearby trees, making up games, we put our “good clothes” at risk of being soiled, and were just asking for skinned knees.
Would you believe there was a time, before buffet style became popular, when everyone sat down for the meal together, passed heaping bowls and platters around the table, served themselves with stainless or even silver cutlery, and ate from china or stoneware plates? Accompanied by tea in flowery cups with saucers? Poured from the spout of a bone china or crockery teapot? Well, I am – fortunately, I like to think – old enough to vouch that it was so. And gosh darn, I have to say I sometimes miss those traditions.
The actual “do” was about so much more than food, though. For my parents it was a chance to visit with friends and neighbours they otherwise only ran into on a wet Saturday in P.A.’s MacLeod’s store on thirteenth street, or maybe the Club Cafe on tenth; accidental meet-ups dependent on the state of the weather, seeding, harvest, and one’s cattle herd.
As fond as fall memories remain, there’s no turning back time. I appreciate the practicality and efficiency of a buffet supper, or the drive through and pick-up version, in today’s busy world. Parents’ and children’s schedules reflect a beehive of activity, and it’s no small baked potatoes that any suppers still occur with volunteers so pressed for time.
Yet these marvels of munchable money-raising meals continue to be held year after year. It’s tempting to say that presenting food to the paying public is a no-brainer way to support a cause – as in “everybody has to eat”. But there’s more to it, isn’t there?
For all our connecting via cellphones and computers using voice, texting and videos, something is missing. Community, I think it’s called. Rubbing elbows toward a common goal.
Besides, none of this technology stuff is very tasty or nutritious. For that, we need food. So pass the gravy, please! And remember to save your fork for pie.
End
