Don Lively
DINNER ON THE GROUNDS

The event has changed some over the years. It was once held under the old oak trees on the east side of the building. These days it takes place close to the same spot, but now it's an inside affair.

Before, folks were drafted to be the designated gnat and fly fanners. They stood along the edges of the tables protecting the innumerable dishes of food from the flying pests until grace was asked and the partaking began.

Nowadays the food doesn't require much fanning since the gathering is inside the climate controlled, multi-use facility.

Years ago the only time the events were held indoors was when it rained. Then we'd have to cram all the food, folks and folding tables inside the only additional space, other than the sanctuary, an old Army barracks converted to a classroom facility.

Yes, the ways and the means of the event have changed with the times, but the event itself hasn't changed and neither has the name.

Dinner On The Grounds.

When I heard those words as a kid I would start looking forward to it weeks in advance. I always knew that there would be plenty of good food and friends, and, though I didn't really know what the word meant back then, good fellowship.

Back when the dinners were still held outside there was a lag time between when the preacher finally said amen and when the eating began. The kids would play football, or tag, or catch while the adults prepared the feast.

One year somebody produced a Frisbee and we began tossing it around. Mama made a point of telling us not to throw "that thing" near the food. I wasn't good with a Frisbee but was giving it my best effort when I let one fly. It went out of control and headed toward the tables where at least a hundred people were crowded around. As though it had radar, it picked Mama out of the crowd and bounced right off the top of her home perm. I tried to run and hide but I was frozen. Everybody laughed. Except Mama.

Good Baptists, and I suspect folks from all denominations, will use any excuse to have a good old potluck dinner. Fifth Sunday. Homecoming. Revival. People like to gather.

I hadn't been to one at my home church in a while and I was really looking forward to the most recent one. I wasn't disappointed.

The service before the dinner was a music special by a group of very talented voices singing old time gospel numbers. That was followed by over a half dozen baptisms, lots of clapping and rejoicing.

There's no better place on Earth to worship than a little country church, and no finer get together than a dinner on the grounds.

I found Aunt Clara's famous potato salad on one of the tables. She's been gone for several years but the tradition endures through her children. It was as good as always.

There were dozens of salads, vegetable dishes, casseroles, ten different varieties of fried chicken, sliced ham, cocktail weenies, even pigs in a blanket.

The dessert table was loaded down with all sorts of cakes, peach cobblers, pies. A billion mouthwatering calories.

There would be no need for a miracle involving five loaves and two fishes on this day.

I loaded down my plate and sat with a family I have known my whole life. Many of the folks there were ones I have known forever. Having been away for many years has not lessened how I feel about them, and, it seems to be okay with most of them that I've "come home".

While I chatted with my friends up walked three ladies, a woman and her two daughters. Though I hadn't seen any of them for years, time didn't seem to matter. She and her late husband were friends with Mama and Daddy. The daughters baby sat me when the grownups went out together. Back then I thought of them as the coolest, prettiest girls I'd ever seen! I have to admit that I was a mite disconcerted by the fact that both of them looked considerably younger than me, but what a great little mini reunion it was!

That's how it has always been and how it will always be at a dinner on the grounds. We no longer have to dodge bugs and raindrops, but not much else has changed. Wonderful friends. Great conversation. Overeating. Fellowship.

And not a gnat to be seen. Or a Frisbee.

Don Lively is a retired police officer and freelance writer. He spends his time between Shell Bluff and Charleston. Send comments or questions to Livelycolo@aol.com.