Becoming Folk Again
October 3, 2011
“Yes, this is just how you look in my dreams; the self-aware hero, however reticent and humble. But how you feel at times is more like the photos of another Nikola Tesla, the skinny old fart, a tired loner in baggy suits, concerned with his mortality—when only the birds befriended you….” I would have liked to be there then—to have him over for supper on a regular basis. “You became so thin!” Skin stretched over bones is all. “Come on! Eat up, Nik! Look at me!” p 257, TTT
AT OUR HOUSE, it was common not to know who’d be at the table for supper on Sunday. “If you never turn folks away from your table, you’ll never be in want,” mama used to preach, her voice starting to tremble. I remember continuing to set the table without looking up in order to avoid her emotional sermonizing. “I live by that, and it works!” she’d assert finally.
I believed her.
So, in my own home, it has become a habit to open our table at least once a week, usually on Sunday when we’ve had time to fix a proper meal. I remember our open invite gaining momentum about fifteen years ago with a knock at the front door (which means it was someone new). And, while Rudy barked in mock ferocity, the conversation with the newcomers went something like this:
“We—aaaaahh—heard from friends that on Sundays—aaaaahh—you play music here—aaaaahh—and that we’d be welcome to sit and listen…” So began the nervous introduction, the pitch of the speaker’s voice gradually getting higher as he spoke.
“…that you might feed us,” added a female companion more boldly.
Hoping not to be too obvious, I began a brief inspection.
“Bread’s just out of the oven!” called my wife from the kitchen. “Com’on in!”
Eventually, our meal times regularly included a young family from up the street, or the neighbor we’ve adopted as our eldest child (she’s older than us), miscellaneous students from nearby universities, friends, family and extended family, friends of family, and the families of friends; there are usually about 20 or so around the board.
We begin planning the menu during the preceding week or even before that, and when things are tight as they have been this year, we invent cheap ways to make the food special while making do with what’s in our pantry. We have found that we can feed a lot of people on a shoestring if we make things from scratch, which has also made us better cooks!
The great thing is that this is not a program. By nature, programs tend to fix the outside of things temporarily. We do it because it’s what we want to do; it’s in us—to create neighborliness and community, to provide wholesome sustenance and an atmosphere of acceptance and inclusion where people feel welcome and loved. It’s about making a place around us to become neighbors again.
My dad, who grew up on a small family farm in the hills of Nova Scotia, speaks of hard times when the relatives in town would save up for gas in order to drive out to the country for a good meal at the farm. The folks on the farm didn’t realize how tight things were; to them, the cost of plenty was hard word, not money. According to Eliot Coleman, the small family farm is “one of the most relentlessly subversive forces on the planet,” reminding us that Thomas Jefferson didn’t think we could have democracy unless at least 20% of the population was self-supporting on small farms…, independent of programs and systems.
We have also found a simple way to provide for those who don’t live down the street, who aren’t within the circle of our immediate influence, a way which doesn’t cost us anything. As a family, we fast from eating one day a month in order to gift the money that would have fed us to those in need. That might mean donating to a favorite trusted charity, bringing that amount of food to a local food bank, or even buying clothing to leave at a local collection box. It’s not difficult to get creative with this as there are so many in need of something all around us—in need of food, of clothes, in need of a smile, or reassurance. We call this gift our fast offering, which is not our original idea; it’s something we learned about in church. It not only provides for others, but reminds us how blessed we are even in the midst of our own struggles, filling our home with a spirit of plenty.
I like to imagine what might happen if everyone did just this much each month to care for neighbors—without judgment—to become folk again.
“…and please bless us, that we might bless the lives of others. Amen!”
“Dig in, everyone!”
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I love this post!! I’ve been blessed to enjoy many a meal at your table. Thank you. You make me want to do more to be better.
thanks elizabeth–we can all do better to become folks again. i think that somehow many of us have fallen prey to advertizing and media and are trying to be something else. thanks again!