It pleases me that the church folk are still friendly.
I grew up in north central Ohio, where our family enjoyed ice cream socials at the small churches that dotted the countryside. Seated at tables next to fields of soybeans or corn, we ate pulled chicken or barbecue sandwiches, homemade chicken soup, and dessert that included home baked pies and cakes topped with ice cream from a hand cranked freezer. The church folks who served us were friendly.
It pleases me that -- some fifty years later-- our small country church holds similar dinners: pancake suppers, an annual Strawberry Festival, and a chicken barbecue in the fall.
Recently, Myron and his crew built a charcoal pit behind the church, grilled the chicken with his secret-recipe sauce, and steamed corn on the cob in a huge pot. The smell alone was worth the price of admission.