*Previously posted on Book End Babes
I’m sitting here in four days’ worth of dirt. The annual Labor Day Camping Trip is now over. Laundry is stacked neck high, and the kids are grimly packing their bags for the first day of school. As much as I hate this part of the tradition (the migraine, the dirty unpacking, the package of hummus that popped open in the cooler and has mixed with the melted ice water, reminding me of . . . well, never mind), I wouldn’t miss the trip for anything.
This is the time we get together with our dearest friends and their families to look back on the year: new schools, first dates, our parents’ aging, and (this year) the turmoil of one of the kids’ battle with cancer. We menu plan and share food. We potluck.
According to Wikipedia, “[a] potluck is a gathering of people where each person or group of people contributes a dish of food to be shared among the group. Synonyms include: potluck dinner, spread, Jacob’s join, Jacob’s supper, faith supper, covered dish supper, pitch-in, carry-in, bring-a-plate, smorgasbord. The term potluck is not often used in the southern U.S. to mean a meal of this sort since spelled as two words it has the older meaning of what an unexpected guest will have (whatever is already in the pot).
Well, here in the north, at least with our camping crew, it’s not just the pot that’s shared. It’s the books. Along with the tator tot hot dish and bars, we bring a wide assortment of books–usually things we know the others probably would have never picked up on their own. And we gorge ourselves on words. Among this year’s sampling was a military suspense titled: The Last Cardinal; a Christian fiction debut: They Almost Always Come Home; and the new YA release: Linger. Pick and choose. Find a semi-broken lawn chair, a shadow under a pine tree, feel the snap of fall in the air. It’s September in Minnesota. It’s time to potluck.