Beatrice
The Second Pig Pickin
October 26, 1996
Confidence was high for the second pig pickin'--high enough that we didn't even flinch at attatching our name to it and doubling the guest list to include David's collegues from the history department at Kennesaw State. Granted, it was risky; David wasn't tenured yet. But we're the kind of people who live life on the edge. Yooobetcha! And so we risked it all: the career, the respect and admiration of peers, even the name calling that might have resulted from failure. But we didn't fail. Beatrice was a great success, and everyone who attended had a thoroughly wonderful time.
For weeks prior to the big day, rumors were flying. Word was that a parade was planned which included appearances by the clydesdales, Leonard Skinnard and the Govenor! Another rumor was that a unit from Dobbins Air Force Base was set to fly The Missing Man formation over Cartersville that afternoon. Careful investigation revealled that Dr. Fred Roach (aka: The Man in Black) was responsible for all the hype. Fred is a collegue of David's and a neighbor, and he and his wife, Carol had attended our first pickin'. Fred's pretty involved with our local theatrical group, the Pumphouse Players, and so tends to be a little dramatic.
I was real tickled that my folks came in all the way from North Carolina to be with us. Mom and Dad are getting on in years, and what with her poor health, they don't travel near as much as they'd like to. Everyone enjoyed meeting them though, and I think they had a pretty good time. Mom did tend to go on to Tracy right much about making sure the pig got done right, and how people could get sick if he didn't, and we might could get sued, and wouldn't that be terrible to lose our friends and our shirt all in the same day. I reckon Tracy felt like throwing her on the pit after a couple of days of it, and I suspect he would have had plenty of help. But Mom meant well, and she was such a wonderful help to me while she was here. Daddy was a great help too. He's a real laid back easy going kind of fellow, and I don't know what we would have done without all the help he offered up, and his last minute come-throughs.
My sister, Michelle also came. Michelle--who I've always called Mitzey, though I don't recall why (well, sure I do, but she'd kill me if I let it slip how she got nicknamed)--Anyway, she and I had to go to the hardware to purchase an axe and some baling wire last minute, and I swear by the time we left the store, I just know that guy thought we were fixing to murder my husband. Mitzey has an unusually warped sense of humor. Evidently a lot of folks do. When we were telling the story that Friday night around the pit, someone mentioned they had a friend in the Sherriff's Department, and if we could come up with a couple of pictures, he could get his friend to carry them into the hardware and question the clerk.
Friday night was great. It had rained off and on during the week, but not a drop fell all day Friday, and it stayed cold and crisp and clear all night. We must have had about twenty people show up, and most of them stayed to watch Beatrice go on the fire at midnight. Ed and Connie Bostic were there again. Jeannie. Fred Roach. Wayne and Inez came over from next door, and Charlie Cowan brought his whole family over the fence with him this time. And J.B. Tate, another collegue, neighbor and good friend, was also there.
We had set out bales of hay and what few lawn chairs we had, and everyone took turns sitting around the pit or standing around the fire watching the little ones toast marshmellows. David had bought me a concrete pig to set in the yard to commemorate our first pickin'. I named her Alice, of course, and she spent the whole night propped up on a bale of hay near the pit, balancing beer bottle caps on her nose. It's the only trick she can do, other than rolling over and playing dead.
There must have been close to a hundred people showed up on Saturday, and just as soon as they all got into the house, wouldn't you know it started raining. Some folks were able to venture outside for short spells to take a look at the pit, but for the most part, people stayed inside and on the front porch. It was real cozy though. Believe me, when you get that many people crowded into a house, you can't help but make friends. And it was fun. Looking at Beatrice stretched out on the table all pretty and brown beat the heck out of last year's looking at bowls of Alice.
We held a drawing again this year to see who killed Beatrice, and it was Kristen Miller, a friend of our daughter, Katie Mae, who won the pig killer prize. Kristen was in a state of shock at having been "caught," and kept her hands over her ever-reddening face as the crowd pressed for bloody details of the crime. All poor Kristen could do was mutter, I killed her ... I killed her. It was a disappointing confession for those of us who would have prefered a more gory description, but we all applauded her anyway, thanked her for her role in bringing about the pig pickin', and let her take home her stuffed pig prize.
It was a wonderful day, and everyone had a great time. Those who had been to such affairs in the past assured us it was perfect, and those who had never seen anything like it before promised they wouldn't miss the next one for anything in the world. I realize we may never again attain that level of perfection with our pig pickin's, but it sure is nice to know that at least once in this life we did, and that's already much more than we could have ever hoped for.