Table project is on wait list

Once upon a time, I had a picnic table. My grandmother gave it to me before my daughter was born. I painted it white and set it in the backyard.

At that time my daughter was only two or three and a fan of tea parties. Most of those were held in her room on a child-sized table that used to be mine and is mine again. Sometimes the tea parties were held outside on the picnic table. The menu was usually a sliced hot dog, white bread cut in small squares, a cut-up green pepper, celery and carrots. Drinks were Kool-Aid. All of this was served on the little table on little dishes.

Some days the neighborhood children helped make cookies or cake to be eaten outside at the picnic table. Although we made a mess in the kitchen, the kids had fun. Somehow eating outside made the food taste better. Anything dropped on the ground was fair game for the dog.

We were friends with the neighbors and whenever one of us fired up the grill the other would bring their own food over to be cooked. Then we all ate at the picnic table. It seems that when meals are served outdoors the children were able to eat as much or as little as they preferred without a parent insisting that the child eat something they disliked.

That picnic table saw many a relaxed evening while the adults talked and the kids played. Those were the days when little shoes would appear at random on the lawn only to be claimed a day or so later by someone’s mom. I find it interesting that at the time we were the house where all the local children gathered. These days my daughter has the house where all the kids congregate.

At some point, the picnic table made its way back to my grandmother’s barn. The plan was to reclaim it when I had a yard big enough to justify it. As plans go, that didn’t work. My brother, Michael, burned the barn down. The picnic table was a pile of ashes in a bigger pile of ashes. In Michael’s defense, he didn’t mean to commit arson. He had turned the milk barn into a car workshop. He found a potbelly stove and fired it up. When he took a friend home a spark from the stove landed on the dry timber of the roof and the picnic table was no more and neither was the barn. The fire made the nightly news.

Since the pandemic began we have taken to picking up lunch at a fast food place then finding a park with an empty picnic table. Somehow eating outdoors is much better than eating indoors. We often choose a spot where we are in sight of a river. Today’s lunch was accompanied by some geese. Luckily, the geese went after a family with small children instead of us.

A few years ago I was outside messing with the flowerbeds. A boy who appeared to be nine or so asked me where the picnic table was. I told him we didn’t have one. He insisted we had and that it had been painted red. Again I told him we never had a picnic table. He told me that “some people just don’t remember.” We agreed to disagree.

My hubby and I have talked about building a picnic table of our own. We have too many projects to finish before we tackle that so it goes in the “one of these days” file.

Until then, we will continue to find a park with an empty table and enjoy a meal or two outdoors where we can watch the world go by.