Three Potluck Night

I was on my way to the first of day’s three potlucks, when I passed a bus shelter with two fairies waiting for a bus to take them to the parade. Their gossamer wings were relatively restrained, perhaps so they could fit through the sliding doors, and I chuckled at how the surly teens dressed in black leather and piercings didn’t even seem to notice the aerie creatures waiting next to them. It’s solstice in Seattle.

When faced with a potluck and allergies, I always try to make sure to bring something that my family and I can make a meal of, in case no one else brings something they can eat. In this case, planning for three potlucks when I’m already spread thinly preparing for camping next week and a major European sojourn was overload meant that I was also aiming for simple. (Did I mention there’s been a lot of real, paying work while my colleagues go on vacation?)

Potluck Number One: Board Meeting, Dunn Gardens, 1:00 p.m. Given that I can’t make it that long until lunch, I consider this a non-meal potluck. I head for the Redmond Saturday Market looking for a fruit or vegetable that requires little or no preparation and provides low-guilt munching. Last week, we went looking for a present for a seventh birthday party, and came away with a cherry tomato plant; this week, the first organic Rainier cherries beckoned. I figure most people will bring lunchy things, and I am right: sandwiches abound. My bowl of cherries brightens things up, and go nicely with the California strawberries and raspberries that arrive on their coattails.

I leave the meeting before it ends, sadly, since the Gardens are so pretty this time of year, but I have another potluck to attend, and I am the one in charge this time. During the winter, my deep thinking time, I realized that as out school had grown, the tight-knit community that we so value has unraveled; we were happy to rely on paid staff to do things for us, and had forgotten that we need to know each other. Potlucks to the rescue, pinned on to the calendar along with parent nights and festivals. The market has given me tomatoes and cucumbers from a fellow in town who surrounds his house with tunnel houses (and plants colorful potatoes everywhere else). The two summery veggies go into a bowl with some steamed quinoa, olive oil, lemon juice, parsley and mint, and spend the afternoon chilling. At school we set up two tables, two tablecloths, and the bowls and casseroles arrived. Blankets spread, we enjoy each others company and dishes, catch up, cover the sidewalks with chalk pictures, then cleanup together.

At this point, the back-of-car detritus includes, among other things, a bowl with a handful of cherries, a bowl with a few servings of quinoa tabouli, and a watermelon. We also have sweaters, socks and bug balm, since we’re headed up the hill for another solstice gathering. My friend Patti’s gatherings are always eclectic, young and old mixing together and delighting in each other, noisy animals and kids, and a great potluck spread. They have just started when we arrive fashionably late (but not the last arrivals!), so we add our offerings and nosh on some yumminess. The bleu cheese and strawberry salad stand out, along with the crunchy pistachio crust on a rhubarb-blueberry cobbler. After socializing and watching some aerialists perform in the barn, we gather up our empty bowls, unopened watermelon and tired grubby kids and head down the hill. It is nearly eleven when we arrive home, and the sky is still dusky in the west.