My own garden provides interesting food options for a Sunday picnic. But to expand the collection, I ask each guest to bring a potluck dish prepared from a local food source.
I call Phil, a watercolor artist who lives in Stonington Borough, with an invitation. There is a lengthy pause as he considers.
“Local food? I’m going to need some help here.” He sounds truly mystified.
“It will be easy,” I reassure him. “Just come to the Farmers Market on Saturday and pick up a couple of head of lettuce. We’ll make a salad when you arrive.”
Lawn bocce is the first order of a picnic afternoon. Since many of my ten or so guests have never met each other, the game serves as a pleasant icebreaker. It also entertains children while they mix with the mostly adult company. I have no fixed bocce area so the entire mowed area around the house serves as the court.
At an early season picnic, Ryan, who is twelve, arrives on crutches. His right leg has eighteen stitches and is immobilized by heavy bandages. I assume he’ll observe play from the bocce bench, but no, he participates enthusiastically and becomes the mainstay of every game.
We start the first round up the hill by the terrace. I hand out the rulebook, but no one can figure out how to score.
“Scoring seems to be lost in a bad translation from the Italian,” Phil quips.
With that, the guests toss the book aside and make their own rules. In some areas of the yard, the view of the bright yellow palino is obscured in a clump of grass. In another location, the tiny sphere bounces off exposed ledge rock and rolls unpredictably for several feet. Under the canopy of a large conifer, the surface is softer and holds fewer surprises. The growth of moss slows the small ball when a team member pitches it forward to start another round.
No comments:
Post a Comment