It was a different time and place; the Oklahoma of my youth. Instead of special taxes, levees and school bonds, when a school or a church wanted to raise extra money; they'd have a Pie Supper. The local women would make a picnic supper, including a homemade pie and donated it to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. The winner of the bid not only got a fine meal, but also the company of the lady who made it and IF he was lucky and she wasn't spoken for already, she might even consent to take a stroll with him under a night sky. Don't get me wrong; The most he could hope for would be a kiss. Sex had not been invented yet, so not even married folk did "it". Makes me wonder how the species survived....but I digress.
Included in the festivities would be a barn dance for those with a leg to shake, a "jug" out back for those with a thirst and usually a fist fight for those with a grudge. Yup. A good time was had by all.
In my thirteenth summer I bid in my first Pie Supper.
After working all week for Old Man Allen, the cheapest meanest man in the county, I was first in line to draw wages on Friday afternoon.
Hurrying home, I pumped water from the well and not waiting it to heat on the old woodburner stove, took a chilly bath. Slicking back my hair and wiping some saddle soap on my boots, I put on my Sunday-Go-to-Meetin clothes and went out to saddle Tippy, our mule.
My rush to get there was partly due to my uncle Howard bein the auctioneer. He was the only one to know who made which basket and promised to give me a sign, when the cook would be someone he thought I'd like.
Getting to the church a couple hours early, I made myself useful by helping to set up chairs, while watching the gals from the corner of my eyes.
After what seemed an eternity, the auction started. No hawk ever watched a rabbit any closer than I did my uncle. I was beginning to think he'd forgotten me, when he looked straight at me and raised his little finger. I entered the bidding, but trouble raised it's ugly head. In front of me, sat my best friend and chief competitor, Jimmy Provence and his rich dad. He saw the signal and figured out what it meant, so he started bidding too.
In those days, money was money and most bids were won in the five or six dollar range, but that amount went by terrible fast and soon it was just Jim and me bidding against each other. At fifty cents a bid, the unheard of amount of ten dollars slid by unnoticed. I started to sweat, as my worldly fortune consisted of thirteen dollars and forty three cents and told myself that Jim and I might have to make a visit to the "grudge booth" later. Finally at twelve dollars Jim's Dad whispered in his ear and the bid was mine at twelve dollars and fifty cents.
She was beautiful. While time has erased her name from my memory, her face is still clear as a bell. Nor do I remember what was in the basket and for all i know, I may have eaten the napkins as well.
She was down from Kansas, visiting folks and was going home the next day. Yeah, she consented to a stroll and I got my first kiss from a real live girl.
That night, on the way home; Old Tippy must have been walkin in cotton and as for me, my mind had followed my heart, somewhere north of the Kansas border.
And yuh know sumpthin? To this day....I still like pie.
Included in the festivities would be a barn dance for those with a leg to shake, a "jug" out back for those with a thirst and usually a fist fight for those with a grudge. Yup. A good time was had by all.
In my thirteenth summer I bid in my first Pie Supper.
After working all week for Old Man Allen, the cheapest meanest man in the county, I was first in line to draw wages on Friday afternoon.
Hurrying home, I pumped water from the well and not waiting it to heat on the old woodburner stove, took a chilly bath. Slicking back my hair and wiping some saddle soap on my boots, I put on my Sunday-Go-to-Meetin clothes and went out to saddle Tippy, our mule.
My rush to get there was partly due to my uncle Howard bein the auctioneer. He was the only one to know who made which basket and promised to give me a sign, when the cook would be someone he thought I'd like.
Getting to the church a couple hours early, I made myself useful by helping to set up chairs, while watching the gals from the corner of my eyes.
After what seemed an eternity, the auction started. No hawk ever watched a rabbit any closer than I did my uncle. I was beginning to think he'd forgotten me, when he looked straight at me and raised his little finger. I entered the bidding, but trouble raised it's ugly head. In front of me, sat my best friend and chief competitor, Jimmy Provence and his rich dad. He saw the signal and figured out what it meant, so he started bidding too.
In those days, money was money and most bids were won in the five or six dollar range, but that amount went by terrible fast and soon it was just Jim and me bidding against each other. At fifty cents a bid, the unheard of amount of ten dollars slid by unnoticed. I started to sweat, as my worldly fortune consisted of thirteen dollars and forty three cents and told myself that Jim and I might have to make a visit to the "grudge booth" later. Finally at twelve dollars Jim's Dad whispered in his ear and the bid was mine at twelve dollars and fifty cents.
She was beautiful. While time has erased her name from my memory, her face is still clear as a bell. Nor do I remember what was in the basket and for all i know, I may have eaten the napkins as well.
She was down from Kansas, visiting folks and was going home the next day. Yeah, she consented to a stroll and I got my first kiss from a real live girl.
That night, on the way home; Old Tippy must have been walkin in cotton and as for me, my mind had followed my heart, somewhere north of the Kansas border.
And yuh know sumpthin? To this day....I still like pie.
