Missing the days of community friendliness and pie

I grew up in an era and in a region where there was a sweet payoff for both politicians and voters in the autumn weeks leading up to elections: Community gatherings to meet candidates and, yes, eat pie.

Back then the rural communities took turns inviting local candidates to events in their respective community buildings or school cafeterias or whatever space they had that was roomy enough to seat a crowd.

Someone would come early to unlock the building, set up folding chairs, and plug in an urn of coffee.

Neighborhood women fired up their ovens, patted out pastry, opened jars of home-canned peaches and apricots and cherries, and baked up a mountain of mouth-watering pies.

In my community of Milnesand, Etha Preuit led us in the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag and pounded out patriotic songs on the piano to get us in the spirit.

A copy of the sample ballot served as the program, and we methodically worked through it, office by office and name by name.

If the candidate was in the room, he or she was invited to the podium to talk for a few minutes and ask for our vote.

If a candidate wasn’t present, a friend or representative from the same party might say a few words on behalf of that person.

Most of the office-seekers passed out goodies printed with their names.

I’d be willing to bet a five dollar bill that I’m not the only person in Roosevelt County who could still unearth a red, white, and blue emery board emblazoned with “Bill Foster for Probate Judge.”

When we made it to the bottom of the ballot, we bowed our heads to bless the hands who had rolled out the crusts, and we lined up for pie and coffee.

Then — and this may be the most important part — we sat down, elbow to elbow, and shared that tasty repast.

We talked about the things that truly mattered … our families, the rainfall that year, how well the calves had sold, if the school basketball team was shaping up for a good season, whether the grown-up kids would be coming home for Thanksgiving.

There was no mudslinging, no partisan rhetoric, no ugliness, no anger.

There was a room full of friends and neighbors.

There was a smattering of public-service minded folks in search of votes.

And there was pie.

I don’t know about you, but I miss those days.

I wouldn’t mind one bit if we could stumble our way back there again.

If you’ll brew the coffee, I’ll bring the pie.

Betty Williamson believes pie may be the foundation of democracy. Reach her at:

[email protected]