“There’s a lot of us to feed.”
“Girl, don’t you think I know that? Already got some of the food ready.” Big Ma rattled off a list of meats smoked and ready for the stove. “We’ll get your papa to take care of a couple of them chickens so we can roast them for dressing and cook with dumplings. Course, I don’t want to ask your papa to do too much though. He ain’t been feeling quite hisself lately.”
I put down my lemonade. “What do you mean, Big Ma?”
Big Ma waved her hand in dismissal, as if waving away a fly. “Ah, ain’t nothin’ much. You know your papa, girl. Strong as a bull. Just comin’ down with a cold or some such. He’ll be all right. Now, what was I sayin’? Ah, yeah, the chickens. We’ll fry up some for Saturday so we’ll have something ready for the boys and their families to eat when they get here.” Big Ma had thought of everything. She always did when it came to preparing food for the revival.
Big Ma let me rest the remainder of my first day home, but the next day she had me up before dawn. After the morning chores and before the sun settled in to overheat the land, Big Ma, Mama, and I went to the garden, where we gathered collard greens, turnip greens, tomatoes, green peppers, onions, squash, and other vegetables for the coming days of cooking. Once the vegetables were gathered, Mama went back to working on her speech and Big Ma and I spent the next days in the kitchen. We cooked a lot, sweated a lot, laughed and talked a lot, but by Saturday, when the rest of the family began to arrive, we had all the food prepared, from turnip greens mixed with collards and onions and chunks of ham hocks to roasted chicken and cornbread dressing, as well as chicken and dumplings and desserts of coconut, pecan, and sweet potato pies and cobblers, both sweet potato and blueberry. As much of the food as we could, we jammed into the refrigerator; the rest we put in storage boxes filled with ice Papa had brought. As when I had been a child, I could hardly wait for Revival Sunday and all the good eating to begin.
* * *
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On Sunday morning the grounds of Great Faith Church were overflowing. We got there early. It seemed everybody who had moved on to the cities of Jackson or Memphis and beyond had decided to come home. Everybody knew it was a time of change and everybody wanted to be home. Also, we were rebuilding the church and everyone wanted to be a part of it. As many people as possible packed into the old school building where most of us had once been students. Walls had been removed to open up the space, but still more space was needed for all the people. Papa, as a deacon, had his work cut out for him. He and the other eleven deacons took care of trying to get as many people as possible seated in the building. As the elderly arrived, they helped them in and, as was the custom, every young, able-bodied person gave up his or her seat without being asked. This is just what folks did. It was understood.
Extra chairs were brought in, and churchgoers lined the walls of the school building, spilling outside the doors and onto the lawn. Windows were open and people outside gathered in front of them. As electric fan blades whirled, cardboard fans were handed out, and churchgoers waved them furiously, trying to cool themselves. Although the building had electricity, there was no air conditioning, but most folks could endure that. Most people, even those living north, did not enjoy that luxury either. No one complained. We had come to hear the sermon, to join together in community. We had come because no matter where we now lived, this was home and always would be. The heat didn’t matter. The comfort didn’t matter. So, we took our fans, cooled ourselves as best we could, and awaited the words of the Lord.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
After services, the eating began. Pots and trays of food were set out on the tailgates of trucks and wagons. Long tables had been brought from all over and set up across the lawn. Chairs that had lined the school walls were brought to the tables, along with benches, and as many as could sat, but many folks stood, plates heaped with food in hand, and enjoyed the tremendous feast. Others, mostly the young folks and children, plopped down on the ground, shaded by the huge pines, and ate voraciously, then hurried back to the pots and trays for more. Once the family food had been tasted, people moved from truck to truck, wagon to wagon to sample a neighbor’s food and enjoy their neighbor’s camaraderie. Our family sat with the Turners and the Wigginses. Little Willie, Dora, and all their family were at the revival, and so were most of the Turners. I thought about Guy. He would have loved all this.
“So, how y’all doing?” asked Morris, holding a plate of food piled high as he swung his long legs over the bench to sit between his father and me. He had come late to the table after having made the rounds to as many people as he could to get them enrolled in this year’s summer registration drive.
“Question is,” I said, “how are you doing, Little Brother? Getting any people registered?”
“Few. But far as that Strawberry registrar is concerned, it’s all show so the county can say to Washington that it’s got Negroes registered to vote. But they know and we know just a couple Negroes voting can’t help bring the change we need.”
“What about people coming to the classes? Any increase from last year?”
“Little down, but hoping it’ll pick up after this week. Wish you were teaching again this year, Cassie. We could sure use the help.”
“Like to, but I’ve got to work.”
“Well, want you to do that too, especially for Moe.” He bit into a chunk of sweet potato pie. Like a lot of folks, he started with his sweets first. I waited for him to swallow. “Umph!” he said, once he did. “You make this, Cassie? Got it from your truck there. It sure is good!”
“No, I’m not much of a cook. That’s Big Ma’s cooking you’re tasting.”
“Should’ve known.” Morris looked down the table to Big Ma. “Miz Caroline!” he called. Big Ma turned to look at him. Morris pointed to his plate with his fork. “Great food! You sure you don’t want to marry me?”
Big Ma laughed. “You get on ’way from here, boy! I was twenty years younger maybe, but I ain’t, so you just enjoy your food and think on that wedding you got comin’ up here with Denise. Hope she still gonna have you!”
Morris smiled and glanced at Denise sitting across the table. “Are you?” he asked.
Denise shrugged. “I guess so, seeing Miz Logan don’t want you.”
Everybody near laughed, including Morris; then he got up. “I gotta get me another piece of that sweet potato pie before it’s all gone. Can I get you something, Daddy?” he asked of his father.
“Naw, son,” said Mr. Turner, smiling toothlessly up. “You just go ’head, eat all you want. Eat some for me too.”
“I’ll do just that, Daddy,” promised Morris.
As Morris left the table, Uncle Hammer said to Papa, “You don’t look so good, brother.”