Labor Day Picnic
Posted By: Julie Hammond
Labor-Day-Picnic-031 Kenneth Aaron-9-7-09
My too-cafinated heart was still racing when I pulled up to the lawn outside Washington Monroe High School, picnic basket in hand and lawn chair slung over my shoulder. The brief moment of panic (what am I doing showing up to a picnic by myself!) passed when I heard my name and was called over to a big blanket where friends and home grown rasperries reigned. I pulled the just-picked green bean & tomato salad from my basket and began passing bowls and filling plates. Spicy eggplant, baskets of cherry tomatoes, pasta with califlower, fresh pitas from the brick oven, Dave the pickle man, huge bowls of watermelon, and did we mention the slow food brownies. Oh, that TBA feeling.

I love picnics. I love food. And I must confess one of my favorite things about The Works at TBA is having the space to talk about what is happening, what we saw, what we are about to see, what we like, don’t like, and why why why. As much as I adore these late night beer fueled conversations, there is that little nagging shouldn’t-I-be-watching-the-performance-inside feeling. At this year’s Slow Food Picnic, there was no nagging feeling, only surprisingly warm weather and parachute games on the other side of the lawn. As we passed food and invited more friends and frieds-of-friends to join our growing picnic party the conversation turned naturally from what’s growing and how well in the garden to the place of nudity in dance and how the four modes of performance in The Shipment speak to/about eachother. This what picnic conversation can be.
By 4:30 the blankets were emptying out, the last of the pickles has been given away, and people carried off five gallon buckets of tomatoes, squash, basil and the most magical peach-colored gooseberry plants. Light rain began to fall and I made my way inside to Fawn Krieger’s National Park. Donning the bear head mask and throwing foam rocks into the air, I couldn’t help but think: I wish I still had my picnic basket in hand.