Story
Dinner on the Grounds
These al fresco events evoke a feeling of times mostly forgotten. Generations ago, Appalachian mountain people would hold a “dinner on the grounds” in local churchyards or grassy farm patches, so friends and neighbors could gather together to share food and fellowship. Often, houses and cabins were too small to accommodate many guests, and certainly too steamy. Only the food – and not the guests – should be cooked! People gathered under the shade of great oaks and hickories, or under an improvised assemblage of cut branches lashed together to form a shelter, known as a “bresh arbor”.
Normally, there would be fiddle music and singing, a motley collection of dogs clamoring underfoot for a stray morsel (the impetus for hushpuppies), and near the end of the feast, a jar of illicit beverage would perhaps reveal itself. Around the table would be a convivial scene. The women might compare their stores of canned, or “put up” fruits and vegetables; the men would talk farming or hunting. One might proudly yarn about the exploits of his favorite hunting hound – his “brag dog”.
Our garden dinners are a notch or two more luxurious than the ones of yore, but one need only to close her eyes to be transported back to those days. The dusk air is alive with the Faulknerian buzz of cicadas, the bioluminescent disco balls of a firefly singles bar, and insect-hungry bats weaving and dodging like besotted party crashers. Conversation may begin with mentions of e-mails, sports or the stock market, but by the end of the meal, turns to talk of timeless kinship.Jeff Ross
Garden Manager
Every August we celebrate Garden Month here at Blackberry Farm, and each Wednesday in the month we hold wonderful outdoor dinners in the garden. We arrange and decorate hand-built cypress tables with rustic dinnerware and flowers gathered from our property. The culinary staff create a special meal in an ad hoc outdoor kitchen from ingredients gleaned from mere footsteps away. (These are the folks you want to take camping.)
These al fresco events evoke a feeling of times mostly forgotten. Generations ago, Appalachian mountain people would hold a “dinner on the grounds” in local churchyards or grassy farm patches, so friends and neighbors could gather together to share food and fellowship. Often, houses and cabins were too small to accommodate many guests, and certainly too steamy. Only the food – and not the guests – should be cooked! People gathered under the shade of great oaks and hickories, or under an improvised assemblage of cut branches lashed together to form a shelter, known as a “ bresh arbor”.
Normally, there would be fiddle music and singing, a motley collection of dogs clamoring underfoot for a stray morsel (the impetus for hushpuppies), and near the end of the feast, a jar of illicit beverage would perhaps reveal itself. Around the table would be a convivial scene. The women might compare their stores of canned, or “put up” fruits and vegetables; the men would talk farming or hunting. One might proudly yarn about the exploits of his favorite hunting hound – his “brag dog”.
Our garden dinners are a notch or two more luxurious than the ones of yore, but one need only to close her eyes to be transported back to those days. The dusk air is alive with the Faulknerian buzz of cicadas, the bioluminescent disco balls of a firefly singles bar, and insect-hungry bats weaving and dodging like besotted party crashers. Conversation may begin with mentions of e-mails, sports or the stock market, but by the end of the meal, turns to talk of timeless kinship.
Jeff Ross
Garden Manager
These al fresco events evoke a feeling of times mostly forgotten. Generations ago, Appalachian mountain people would hold a “dinner on the grounds” in local churchyards or grassy farm patches, so friends and neighbors could gather together to share food and fellowship. Often, houses and cabins were too small to accommodate many guests, and certainly too steamy. Only the food – and not the guests – should be cooked! People gathered under the shade of great oaks and hickories, or under an improvised assemblage of cut branches lashed together to form a shelter, known as a “bresh arbor”.
Normally, there would be fiddle music and singing, a motley collection of dogs clamoring underfoot for a stray morsel (the impetus for hushpuppies), and near the end of the feast, a jar of illicit beverage would perhaps reveal itself. Around the table would be a convivial scene. The women might compare their stores of canned, or “put up” fruits and vegetables; the men would talk farming or hunting. One might proudly yarn about the exploits of his favorite hunting hound – his “brag dog”.
Our garden dinners are a notch or two more luxurious than the ones of yore, but one need only to close her eyes to be transported back to those days. The dusk air is alive with the Faulknerian buzz of cicadas, the bioluminescent disco balls of a firefly singles bar, and insect-hungry bats weaving and dodging like besotted party crashers. Conversation may begin with mentions of e-mails, sports or the stock market, but by the end of the meal, turns to talk of timeless kinship.Jeff Ross
Garden Manager