Soon, Dee will be gathered on this enclosed farm-house porch shown below, having a great-old-time, shredding, pulling apart, picking with small knives and tweezers a heap of fresh Chesapeake Bay crabs. Out there, they spread newspaper over the long groaning board of Gramaw and Poppy's and all gather round while a bushel of steamed crabs is dumped before them, a large extended family who except for Jeffrey in NYC and Dee in Waukesha have all stayed around for a lifetime and the blessings of Pleasant Valley, including Gramaw's loving-endless cooking, and Poppy's kindness, potatoes and other crops.
A wedding is coming soon, which will bring the crab-devourers again onto that porch together as a massive, teeming, and ready-to-eat family. Many fingers, large and small, will do the work of dissembling the parts and shells, and extracting minute but savory particles of friendly yet wild crabs who were until recently reposing on the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay, presumably minding their own business.
We never got the hang of it. Never entered the realm of small crustacean dissection and pincher-sucking delight. While other family diners, over controlled slow time and lively conversation, assembled mounds and mounds of empty shells on their absorbant newspaper tablecloth, we eyed other victuals of a more - for us - edible and tasty nature. Vegetables fresh, and home-made pies and cakes, yum-um! And the beer always tastes good.
Some people get it, some (very few) don't.
No comments:
Post a Comment