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Groundhog Supper Tradition
The smell ambushes you the minute you open the car door in the little country church gravel parking lot. Waffles. Sausage. A hint of syrup and pancakes. Home. Every year, the Lyona United Methodist Church in rural Geary County, Kan., puts on the Groundhog Supper, on or near Groundhog Day in February. It's way more than a "pancake feed"--it's an institution in our little community. The Groundhog Supper is an annual event that began generations ago, and the men of our church have been dishing out farm-raised sausage and fresh waffles and pancakes just as their fathers and grandfathers and even great-grandfathers did since the first limestone rock was laid in the foundation. It's tradition. And, frankly, it's a success because we just don't tinker with tradition. Okay, so the meal is unpretentious, but the best things in life are often the most humble. Sure the whole Wheat flour used in the batter is freshly ground from Wheat grown in the Lyona Valley by our farmers. And yes, the pork sausage is made from hogs fattened on a neighbor's farm off of Lyona grain. But, if you ask me, the secret to the success of the supper isn't the ingredients, rather it is the people who support it each year. (Of course, I could be biased, afterall I'm related to most of them.) You see, on this night, the whole church works together to make the event run as smoothly as a Broadway production, from the women who take tickets at the door and sell packages of frozen take-home sausage, to the men who cook in the little church kitchen and wash dishes. Traditionally Groundhog Supper is where, as a child, you measure your maturity. As a youngster in the church, you know you've grown into a big kid when you're given the responsibility to serve second helpings and clear dishes. Years later, you'll find yourself flipping a pancake or filling a waffle iron and you realize you've become an adult and taken over your parents' job in a blink of time. Informally, Groundhog Supper is where you bring your significant other to introduce to the neighbors. You know if he or she can pass inspection from the ladies' auxiliary, they have received the seal of approval. Afterall, relationships have been made and broken over who gets the last waffle hot off the irons and who is left with an empty plate and a five-minute wait--a sure deal-breaker. Rumor has it there are even a few engagements that were the direct result of the amazing properties of the vanilla ice cream. On this night, parents will bring babies and toddlers for their first taste of waffles and sausage. Waiting in line, you'll see a little girl riding up on her daddy's shoulders--the same young man who ironically was once was the terror of the county and who is now a respectable police officer. Meanwhile, off to the side of the big dining room, older congregation members will sit and comment on the weather--which in Kansas could be sunny for one Groundhog Supper and icy the next. They reminisce about past Suppers and kibbitz on the meal and in general enjoy being out and about amongst younger folk. The night is significant to me because I know that when I walk through those front doors of the church I'll be greeted by the same faces who nurtured me for 20+ years. Once more I see friends and neighbors and catch up on local news, like I haven't spent the past year 200 miles away from family. The night is our community's version of homecoming and alumni reunions all in one. On the outside, it's just a plate of simple breakfast food. But, if you look past it, you'll see the very heart and soul of what living in a rural community is all about--family, friendship, belief in past values, and faith in the future. I pity those who never know the single joy of anything like it. It's more than an odor of waffles in the night air, or the sound of a dining room of people and sharing a meal with strangers turned friends. It's home. Jennifer Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com. Date: 2/1/05
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