Chicken BarBQue

Disclaimer  **This post has nothing to do with my previous post**

When Sid and I began looking at the website for the church where we are now serving I got to the committee page and chuckled.  I said, the have a BarBQue committee.  They have more than 1 BBQ committee.  Sid just looked at me like, what did you expect.  This past Saturday I got to see why we need a committee for the Chicken BBQ Fundraiser. 

Apparently the church is known in the community for it's bbq.  I am intrigued.  I've seen the pits across the street, but I haven't look closely at them. Here's how it all goes down:

8 am: About 15-20 people, mostly men show up to work.  They start by cleaning the racks, cutting some wire, starting the fires in the pits (all 5 of them), and  then "racking" the chicken. The racks are large, metal grates.  They remind me of the grill rack my parents used to use when they did fish on the grill, only big.  Really big.  They are swept off, then brush on some oil, open them up and lay the chicken on them.  It takes 4-6 men to wire the racks closed. 

10 am: Another 15-20 people show up, more women now, and they make the coleslaw and put the applesauce in little cups, people put sliced bread in baggies, and somebody starts the all important bbq sauce! (Sorry, I don't have pictures of any of these parts.)

1 or 2pm:  More people!  THis year there were quite a few teens who came, and they had the job of squirting sauce into condiment cups and putting lids on them. Good stuff!  Then... The Tables are set up.  The chicken has been on the pits, it's almost done. The tables are set up for two lines.  A plate of chicken will get a half chicken, a scoop of cloeslaw, a pickle, a cup of applesauce, 2 slices of bread, and a cup of bbq sauce.

3pm:  The chicken is starting to come off the racks.  Somebody checks the temperature, to make sure it's done.  They snip the wires, open the rack, making sure everything stays on the same side of the rack.  It gets a coat of sauce, then it's placed into a big tub and covered to stay warm until it's plated.  The plates are really 3 section to-go boxes.

4pm: Sale time.  And people are here and hungry.  Some have tickets (that were passed out or sold weeks ago), some people swing by and pay cash (from what I can see).  But by 6 pm all 1000+ chicken dinners are sold.  And this is the SMALL BBQ? 

It was a really fun, busy, long day.  I loved it. Oh, and the chicken is worth being known for!

To Bruce on his 3rd Birthday

Bruce-Man,
  I love you. You are the funniest, snuggliest, most determined, hard-working, helpful boy.  You are always making me laugh.  You are also talking up a storm and becoming more and more understandable every day.  I was worried there for a few months, but you communicate now!  You say funny things too.  My favorite  phrase right now is "Me still drinky" when you want more to drink.
  You decided 2 days before your birthday that you were a "big boy" and should not wear diapers anymore.  I agreed and you have been in big boy pants ever since.  I've done more laundry in the last 5 days than I had in the 3 weeks leading up to it.  You're getting there though and I'm very proud of you. I'm working on patience.
  You love tools.  All tools.  Tools for construction and tools for gardening and tools for eating.  It's so much fun to watch you.  You got big shovels, a rake, a hoe, and a broom for your birthday.  All your size.  It's all you want to play with.  You also got a t-ball set and a baseball glove.  You liked them, but you barely looked at them when we set them up.  You had tools and a spot in the garden to dig.
  You told me yesterday that you loved me.  There is nothing in the world that could have made me happier.  You also told me you loved Daddy, Detta (That's how you're saying Stella these days), and you love "Me, Myself." Followed by PoPs and Mom-Mom.  It was funny. And sweet.
  I love you Buck.

Love,

Mommy


I'm not sure how this wasn't published in June.  It was written then!  Ooops!

Southern Colloquialisms and Other Observations

As a Pennsylvanian newly transplanted in north east Georgia, and a city girl moved to a small town, I'd like to share some of my observations. First of all, who knew that one small town could support so many Fried Chicken and Bar B Que joints. Seriously. Do they eat much else? The grocery store isles assure me that they do, and I can even find some of the lesser known ingredients that are general staples in my pantry (chinese rice noodles, yay!). 

Also, they do speak English here. And I speak English. But there are moments when I have to translate. I hear the words, but they don't make sense. I have to slowly, mentally repeat what was said sometimes more than once, before I know what was said. It's usually not to bad since this isn't my first foray into the world of southern accents (Thanks, Lynchburg!)

And then, the things they say. My favorite was this one, from a discussion among some ladies at church, "He was sweats worse than a rented mule." I don't even remember who we were talking about, which is probably a blessing. I laughed so hard. This is so far outside of my experience that I would never think to say that.  There are more, but as this is already becoming a long post I'll wrap it up.

I do want to say that I love where we are.  I love the people we've met.  I love the church we're a part of.  None of these things I joked about are bad.  They're just my observations of things that are noticeably different from my big city, decidedly Yankee "home."  I am glad to be calling Georgia home.  


Oh, and keep an eye out for more colloquialisms.  I think I'm gonna start a collection, "y'all!"