Lifescapes

Growing Up in Glennonville
Margaret Oakley

Picnicking

Smith children: Margaret, Sylvester, Leonard, Bernard and Beatrice (twins) Smith.

The annual Glennonville church picnic easily outdid the usual entertainment of weddings, funerals, socials and the occasional visits by the Bishop. The picnic was planned all year with pledges taken at the church of a pig or a quarter of beef for the pit barbecue from those who could afford it. From others who were less fortunate, there were pledges of apple pies, tubs of potato salad, cakes and loaves of bread and rolls. The best of the canned pickles, jellies, jams and peaches were saved for the picnic. Women quilted all winter, embroidered pillowslips, crocheted doilies, and knitted sweaters for the bingo prizes.

The picnic grounds, in a grove of oak trees, had a few wooden structures made for the express purpose of accommodating the picnic. There was a large hall with its highly varnished hardwood floors and screened openings to keep out the flies and let in the hot summer breezes. It had long wooden tables and benches, which could be moved aside for dancing later in the evening. There was an outdoor bandstand, a beer stand, a bingo stand, and a fish stand game of chance for the children, a softball diamond and horseshoe pit. Of course, there were two outdoor toilets with a quarter moon carved in the side and holes for children and adults.

On the long awaited day, the Lady's Alter Society members gathered at the crack of dawn to start cooking on the wooden stoves. The barbecue pit had been dug and the coals were heating. The Knights of Columbus men manned the beer stands and the games of chance. People began to gather from the nearby villages, from the wilderness and the woods. They came by horse drawn wagons and beat up trucks. They came on foot and on horseback. They came dressed in new and old overalls, home made dresses, new shoes and old shoes. Most of the children arrived barefoot. Some wore every day clothes and some wore Sunday clothes.

The Governor and the political candidates, dressed in black suits or blue pin striped seersucker suits, arrived in their Plymouths, Fords and Hudsons. The suit jackets would soon be discarded. Armpits were ringed with sweat as they mingled with the farmers. Their wives were dressed in short print dresses. They smelled deliciously of Evening in Paris and dusting powder. They stepped daintily over the fallen limbs or an errant cowpile that had been overlooked by the clean up crew. They smiled determinedly with their ruby red lips and from time to time used little lacy handkerchiefs to flutter near their noses or to dust their shoes. How I adored them as I peeked from behind Mama's long skirts and apron.

Father Peters Roman collar had been replaced for the day with a collarless striped shirt. Probably in an effort to appear more common place. His firm demeanor was replaced with charm and warmth for the day. He appealed to the dignitaries for gravel for the dirt roads, side walks for our tiny village, the longed for high school and an opportunity for the men in the community to participate in the WPA. TVA and REA were earnestly discussed. Deals were made and votes were promised.

As the day wore on, the politicians spoke long and eloquently from the bandstand and joked mightily with the young girls who served the barbecue. At the insistent tugging of their wives, they got in their cars, waved goodbye, shouting "see you next year" and drove away.

The festivities continued. The beer flowed and laughter became louder. Someone shouted "bingo". Another quilt was won. The strawberry sodas left red rims around our lips and chilled our little hands. I can still smell the wonderful aroma from the hamburger Mama stashed away in her apron pocket for her hungry children. The juice dripped onto the Wonder Bread bun. Each tiny morsel was savored. I remember the piece of chocolate pie with the child's tooth buried in the silky custard under the meringue topping.

The band tuned up for the evening dancing. Mama finished with her kitchen chores, danced, with eyes flashing and brown curls tumbling loose. "This was our Mama?" Papa and his brothers played on and on: Turkey in the Straw, She'll be Coming Around the Mountain, waltzes and two steps. Young blades dared each other to dance with the pretty newcomer. Young mothers sat on the sidelines nursing their babies, remembering the times when they too had danced with abandon. Children fell asleep at their feet. At midnight the generator lights blinked three times and the event was over for another year. Families gathered up their children and headed for home in the moonlight.

But wait! All is not over yet. The next morning would find children searching for dropped coins in the beer soaked sawdust and under the band stand. Most of the time the bright silver found half buried was only a Wrigley chewing gum wrapper. The stands in coming summer days provided many a forbidden opportunity for youngsters to climb among the rafters, jump from the roof onto the sand, lock each other in the old damp wooden iceboxes, play hide and seek and scamper for home and safety when Father Peters drove by in his Nash.

The heady days of Glennonville picnicking are gone now. Monsignor Peters grew old and crotchety. The politicians no longer stumped the grounds. Bishop Glennon, now Cardinal, was too busy to visit the little colony in the woods. Papa's foot stopped tapping out the rhythm of his music. Mama's hair turned grey and sparse. Her curls lost their bounce. Her arthritic bones no longer propelled her across the dance floor. The buildings fell into disrepair. The lumber was carried off for scrap. All is quiet in the little grove of oaks. There is no life except for a few rooting pigs that compete with the squirrels and jays for the fallen acorns. Only memories remain.