I spent several summers as a teenager living with my grandmother on her farm in the Shenandoah Valley near the small town of Monterey, Virginia. I was always surprised when folks would just drop by to see us.They never called first. Sometimes, they would bring us peas, beans or tomatoes from their gardens, other times they would just sit on the porch and talk or ask for my grandmother’s permission to fish on her property. I asked her about this, and she just laughed and said at least they didn’t come for supper.
During the depression, having enough to eat took the work of everyone, my grandparents, my great-grandparents, as well as my mother and her sisters. They worked together in the garden. Like most farmers, they “put up” vegetables, jellies and meat, stored potatoes in the cellar over winter, raised chickens to eat and to sell, sold eggs, and made their own butter and cream. My grandfather hunted game and fished.
Whenever someone stopped by the farm close to supper time, they were always invited to eat with the family. Counting on this open invitation, folks would time their visits to coincide with the table being set. They knew, before knocking on my grandparents’ door, they would be invited to supper. So, instead of having to ask for food, they came to “visit” trusting in the goodwill of their neighbors and friends.
Have we lost the gracious gift of open invitation? If so, how do we invite the spirit of generous invitation back into our lives? Can we stretch what we have made for ourselves to meet the needs of others? Inviting others to the table doesn’t require having extra, only a willingness to share what we do have.
~Lisa Kiel
