This is an feeling column.
Southern people love to have reunions in the summertime. My mother’s clan never ever had several, but we experienced a whopper of one particular back again in 1986. That Morrow collecting wasn’t anything fancy…it was all about loved ones, down-household cooking and bluegrass tunes. Like a lot of other individuals, we generally put a heap of worth on our kinfolks and the celebration of excellent food was at the heart of our get-together.
Eight yrs just after the demise of R.C. Morrow, his 12 children collected collectively with their spouses, youngsters and grandchildren at a local park in Albertville. Most continue to lived in the location, but a handful of stray kinfolks from as much absent as Michigan and California answered the connect with to arrive dwelling for a working day of togetherness and reminiscing.
The relatives spent the beautiful summer time afternoon outdoors… having, taking part in new music and remembering the legend that started off our huge clan back again in the early 1900s.
My grandpa was a huge male with a twinkle in his blue eyes and a banjo on his knee. He taught his younger-uns the relevance of laughter and good music, when my grandma Dolly stored anyone content with her great cooking and mild heart.
It was obvious at the reunion that all the sons and daughters ended up intent on trying to keep the relatives traditions alive. Fantastic fellowship, mouth-watering food items and energetic music stuffed the memorable party. A person hundred and fifty-6 heads have been counted that working day less than the large pavilion… from the youngest terrific-grandchild born just a few months prior to my Uncle Juddy who had a short while ago celebrated his 80th birthday.
The collecting location was loaded with a great deal of snug lawn chairs and long folding tables straining under the body weight of oval serving platters and deep glass bowls. The specialties of the day were being fried rooster, potato salad, cornbread dressing, green beans, deviled eggs, creamed corn, buttermilk biscuits and thick slices of juicy crimson tomatoes picked previously that early morning. Oh, and tons of jugs of sweet tea, of training course.
We had lots of desserts to opt for from that working day. My aunts introduced their well known banana puddings, coconut cakes and peach cobblers. My momma’s pecan pies have been the hit of the working day, as constantly.
Following everybody had their fill, the guys sat patting their bulging stomachs and the women of all ages huddled together to swap recipes and a small gossip. Nonetheless full of strength, all the little ones raced off to the adjoining playground to sense the heat on their legs from the towering metallic slides.
It wasn’t extensive before Aunt Lucille’s son, Hoyt, retrieved an outdated guitar from the trunk of his automobile. Yet another cousin remembered he had introduced together a banjo…just in case anyone preferred him to decide a song or two.
When the two joined with each other and commenced their rendition of our Grandpa’s preferred tune, “Boilin Cabbage Down,” voices hushed to a whisper when chairs ended up scooted nearer to the amusement. Even the young children abandoned their fascination with the jungle gymnasium for the seems of the sweet bluegrass audio that ran through their veins.
Uncle Harvey and Uncle Raymond jumped to their ft and amused absolutely everyone with their buck dancing expertise. Foot stomping and hand clapping tunes like “Wabash Cannonball” and “Dueling Banjos” drifted as a result of the honeysuckle laced air. Smiles distribute swiftly on every single face…especially the ones bearing a placing similarity to the person who will never ever be overlooked by our family.
Morrow’s, old and younger, finished that memorable working day with a complete abdomen, a song in their hearts and a twinkle in their eyes. My grandpa certain would have been proud.
Sandy Holsonback is a guest columnist for The Reporter.