“All picnics should be held there with the sunlight scattering down through the tree limbs, and a little breeze coming cool through the shade now and again, rustling the cottonwood leaves above. There was a long plank table heaped with the potluck offerings of the women of the community, and they fussed over it like hens in the barnyard while their children ran wild beneath, around, and through them. The men gathered in casual clusters to visit with their fellow men, while remaining within easy ...striking distance of the food. There was a slight hint of pride in their bearings, as if some ancient office had been placed upon them, and their roles and positions were necessary and invaluable to the whole process of the dinner. Clarendon wasn’t called Saint’s Roost for nothing, and a long, tall galoot in a black wool suit was asked to say grace over the food. He was sure fervent, and I figured that was the reason they had chosen him for the job. He missed his calling and should have been a lawyer, because after what seemed like five minutes of praying even I was looking around me expecting to see the Lord himself waiting to eat.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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