The dining table was big enough to comfortably seat ten people: one aunt, one uncle, two girl cousins, a grandmother, a grandfather, a brother and mom and dad.
The pig rested on the iron skillet on a ceramic trivet in the middle of the table with the shrivled red apple still in its mouth.
Dad carved the pig into chunks of meat that were so tender they fell apart when served. The combination of spices flavored the air. The smells made my mouth water. I finally understood the meaning of food that “melted in your mouth”.
The gravy that my grandmother made formed golden pools on top of the creamy smooth mounds of mashed potates.
We ate scalloped corn, scalloped oysters and fresh green beans with crumbled pieces of bacon fried in bacon fat then tossed with vinegar dressing with a touch of sugar.
My grandfather ate mint jelly with his meat.
My cousins, my brother and I drank tall glasses of milk, my grandparents drank black coffee while the parents drank red wine or water.
The adults did all the talking. We listened to their funny stories about growing up or daily life.
We relived Uncle Bill’s accident with the pogo stick. Each of us told what we saw from where we watched. Every bodies story was different but they were all the same.
My brother said it looked like Uncle Bill got shot from a gun when he flew off to the side before knocking over the lamp.
Sitting around the table we laughed even harder after reliving the story for the second, third and fourth times!