It’s that time of the year. Homecomings traditionally were held at churches in late summer or early fall when the crops had been laid by. Many churches picked a set date — the third Sunday in July or the first Sunday in August or a certain Sunday after the vernal equinox! And woe unto a new pastor who did not follow the pattern!
If there was no set date, the word went out that a certain Sunday had been designated as Homecoming. Grown children and their children left the city and headed back to the church of their familys’ roots. They could expect an all-day meetin’ and dinner on the grounds, although one wag transposed the order and termed it “all-day eatin’ and meetin’ on the grounds.”
Fred Anderson
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Because everyone was gathered, a meal was necessary. In the early years, each family brought dishes of food for themselves. Many country churches only had “preachin’” once or twice a month and families came by horse and buggy from some distance. They expected the journey to be worth the trip so they anticipated a long worship service; and they knew that they had to bring along provisions. Families found shade trees and laid out their food on cloths. Families visited each other under the trees and eventually some wise soul had a better idea: spread all the food out together. Tables were fashioned out of boards and sawhorses and, later, picnic shelters were built. Planks were nailed to trees and turned into places to eat.
And, my goodness, the old-time Christians knew how to eat and the Baptists must have outdone them all. The long tables laden with food usually began with mounds of fried chicken, slabs of salty country ham, plates of deviled eggs sprinkled with paprika and every kind of fresh vegetable. The following is the list of food offered at a dinner on the grounds in Charlotte County in the ’40s: “Fried chicken, home-cured hams, legs of lamb, roast beef, and sometimes whole pigs. Chess pies and meringues and potato custards and cakes.”
Across the years I have enjoyed hundreds of dinners on the grounds and it shows! I have learned the system: place your “silverware” (read plastic ware) in your shirt pocket and free both hands for the important work. Do not take the first items, however tempting, for there surely will be plenty more selections to follow. Pile the pieces of fried chicken high atop each other. Do not waste time or plate space on items which spill out and take precious room, including tossed salads. Sample at least two kinds of corn pudding and deviled eggs from two different plates. No two women make the same deviled eggs or potato salad. Look for home-grown fresh butterbeans, snaps and tomatoes. Avoid anything that looks like it came from a can. Sample several homemade pickles. If you have a sweet tooth, now is the time to go to the dessert table before you sit down. Favorites — pecan pie, sweet potato pie, chocolate pie — go quickly; after all, you are not the only dinner-on-the-grounds connoisseur.
Dinner on the grounds at Mount Zion in Buckingham County, Va., in the 1930s, from the Virginia Baptist Historical Society’s mural collection, by Sidney E. King.
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As for the staple — fried chicken — everyone has their favorite piece and their choice of white or dark meat. Of late, I have preferred chicken legs, wings and thighs. The breast is too much work and too daunting for a plastic knife and fork. The anecdote has been handed down through the ages that old Dr. Jeter (Jeremiah Bell Jeter, arguably the most prominent of the Virginia Baptists of the 19th century) had perfected the technique of eating chicken legs. He knew just where to bite and could strip the meat from the bone with a quick maneuver.
Once — and only once — I found Chesapeake blue crabs at a dinner on the grounds. Of course it was at a church in the Northern Neck; and I think the crabs — an unwieldy choice for any meal except when home alone — were just there for atmospheric reasons. Ladies in silk dresses and men with neckties cannot crack crabs!
Only a few friends know about my visit to the worst dinner on the grounds. Not enough time has passed to reveal the identity of the church. Suffice it to say that the country church was celebrating a very significant anniversary year; and quite naturally, this columnist anticipated the best which a country church could offer. Imagine my surprise when the main item was bologna sandwiches; and not even a whole bologna sandwich but merely one-half. The secondary item was potato chips and all from a common tub. One man chose to guard the tub securely between his arms and reluctantly rationed out little offerings. Admittedly, there was a relish tray which was passed.
And there were desserts — cake squares baked by the women of the church and brought from their homes. The dear soul sitting next to me told me to try the pineapple-upside-down cake; and with a broad grin and a willing heart, I confessed that it was my all-time favorite kind of cake. “It’s what my Grandma used to make,” I added. With that, I took a piece and then the woman asked me what I thought of the cake. “Well, it’s good,” I said, admitting that I seldom have ever met a piece of cake which could not be consumed. She replied: “Well, I brought it. I baked it about two weeks ago and it has been sitting around my kitchen with mold growing on it so I brought it to get rid of it!”
Before the shock had worn off, I shared the bologna story with a Baptist friend. Awhile later, I came to her church; and while everyone else passed along a bountiful table, my friend escorted me to a table holding a bologna sandwich just for me!
To date I have never heard the report of a death from eating at a dinner on the grounds, but it is a wonder. I remember one country church where, when I arrived at 9 o’clock, I saw the people placing their mayonnaise-soaked salads and other delicacies on the tables of the open-air pavilion on a hot Sunday. The service went overtime and it was pushing 1 o’clock by the time the entire congregation gathered on the church steps for a group photograph. It must have been 1:30 at the earliest when we headed to the pavilion. I took one look; and for the first time in my life, I decided to make a meal completely off pickles!
Fred Anderson is executive director of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society and the Center for Baptist Heritage and Studies, located on the campus of the University of Richmond. He may be contacted at [email protected] or at P.O. Box 34, University of Richmond, VA 23173.