Snippet from Sunday Meetin' Time: The Little Church on the Hill 

Chapter four:  A Woman’s Work is Never Done

The weekdays just flew by, and it always seemed that Mama was doing something towards getting everyone back to church on Sundays.

On this particular Sunday morning, she was once again trying to get a head start on dinner.  Everyone would usually be starved after church, and she never knew if they would be having guests for dinner.  It turned out to be a harrowing morning for Mama, and most of the Alrod family.

Herman was big on asking folks over for dinner; not knowing if she had enough fixed to feed her own family.  But she could not fault him any.  He sometimes would see someone who looked lonely or down in spirit, and he would ask them to have Sunday dinner with them.  On some of these occasions, when she had fried chicken, she would just not eat any herself.  She could always put more water in the stew and cut the cornbread in smaller pieces.

Two whole chickens would give everyone in the family two pieces, but when company came, they all got one.  Mama fried the whole bird, the wings, the drumsticks, the pulley bone, the breast, the thighs, liver, and gizzard.  She even fried the neck… but she breaded it with an extra thick crust.

 If she lacked enough to fill everyone up on those unexpected guest days, there was always lots of chicken gravy and biscuits.  Green beans were almost always on the table come Sunday.  She would also open up canned peaches or other vegetables that only needed to be heated.

Sometimes Papa would invite one of the deacons and their family, or someone else from church so they could fellowship together and then discuss some pressing church business.  The women would clear up the dishes; the children would play outside, and the men would amble off somewhere to talk.

It was a long way for some folks to travel to church on Sundays, go home, turn around and then come back, and almost impossible to get with folks during the week.  Most were farmers, and their wives had busy lives just like Mama.  However, the majority of the congregation lived within a reasonable distance to the church.

On this particular Sunday, Mama had a run-in with Billy Joe, her eldest child, who was almost sixteen.

“Now Billy Joe, I done told you that you ain't gonna git out of goin' to church just because of no stumped toe,” said Mama.

“You go out on that porch and pour a little bit… now mind you just a little bit…a drop or two of kerosene over that toe.  And don’t spill none on the porch either!”  Mama was quite aggravated with him.

“But before that, git a clean rag out of the rag bag, and like I told you go out on the back porch and hold yor foot over the edge; then pour that kerosene over that toe.” 

“Mind you, don’t spill it anywhere else.  Then, take a rag, tear it into strips and wrap it tight about that toe.  It will hurt a little bit; put yor sock over it and go ahead and shove it in the shoe. That will hep to put pressure on it to hep it not bleed anymore.  You best wear them old shoes in case it does bleed some more.”

“Make sure you git one of those clean rags… a white one that the sugar comes in… don't never put no colored rags on a sore … the dye ain't good for it.”

Billy Joe shoved a chair as he passed the breakfast table which was still laden down with the breakfast dishes.  They rattled. He was supposed to clear the table on Sunday mornings. 

                          To be continued..........