Tradition

After all the fun I had this weekend, even if I didn't get invited to another party the rest of the summer, I still wouldn't have (valid) reason to complain.
I spent part of my Fourth of July at an excellent picnic near West Grove with lots of food, friendly company, a pretty garden and a very welcoming host and hostess. I'd been hearing about this picnic for months and knew it was a much-loved tradition, so in my reporterly fashion I asked the host how many years it had been going on.
To my surprise this sparked a lively discussion. Everyone agreed that there had been a pig roast to celebrate the 25th anniversary, but how many years had elapsed since then was a matter of dispute. The best answer I could get was 26 or 27 -- still a venerable age.
On Saturday afternoon I went to an event that's both old and new: the Cheshire Country Fair and Picnic on the Kennel Lawn. The organizers are seeking to revive an early-20th-century tradition started by the hunt's founder, Plunkett Stewart, of hosting a party for landowners and neighbors. Hood's BBQ supplied pulled pork sandwiches, broccoli salad, and cornbread, and for dessert there was a whole buffet of fantastic baked goods AND excellent ice cream. It was fun to watch the kids' games, the local celebrity dunking tank, the hard-fought tug-of-war between the landowners and the subscribers (there were both ladies' and men's competitions) and especially the parade of "Cheshire beauties," the hunt's foxhounds, supervised by huntsman Ivan Dowling and whippers-in Stephanie Boyer and Bennett Barclay. My parents, who had never before been to the kennels or seen the hounds, were enthralled.
The third party of the weekend -- a sizeable gathering, with live music, volleyball, a bonfire, several grills and lots of kids running around  -- took place on a rambling property along the Brandywine ("Avoid the ditches," counseled the guy manning the gate). This, too, is an event that has been going on for many years, and the hosts have got it down to a science. As part of the fun, they supply inner tubes and transport you upstream in the bed of a pickup. You walk across a field, slide down a steep bank and then -- ahh -- float downstream. The water was clean, clear and warm, and the water level was generally fine: a couple of times we bumped our rear ends on the rocky bottom and needed to walk for a bit. It was pure bliss, gliding gently under the sycamores, bumping through the rapids and watching the birds swooping down to snatch insects on the creek's surface.
The hosts and hostesses at all three parties have my deep gratitude.