Totally Bazaar

About this time every year, Central Texas buzzes with fall fairs, festivals and bazaars. Any given weekend, you can have a catfish dinner, a shrimp dinner or a pancake breakfast, all in the spirit of raising funds for something or another. The third weekend in October is Bremond’s turn, and the fare of choice is barbecue–some of the best in the state. The annual bazaar in this small Polish community is held to raise money for St. Mary’s Catholic Church.

Bremond is where Billy was born and raised, and where we’ll someday retire. As a child, he attended St. Mary’s–the old one, not the new one pictured here–back in the days when mass was delivered in Polish and stern nuns ran the school. Although he’s no longer Catholic, Billy and I have returned every year for the past several to enjoy the extended family, the barbecue, and the auction at the bazaar.

The auction is an event. A wonderful conglomeration of stuff, some good, some not so good, is accumulated in the pavilion, and folks from all over the county and beyond come and bid on homemade wines, jellies and pickles; hand-made quilts and crafts; gift baskets from Bed, Bath and Beyond; John Deere memorabilia; and hay, feed and cattle. Spotters parade whatever’s up for bid in front of a semi-rapt crowd fanning themselves on the aluminum bleachers, while the auctioneer’s first call is bellowed into a squealing PA system. Fortunately for us all, the system doesn’t squeal for long.

Billy and I were sitting on the top of the stands with his sister and brother-in-law and their daughter, when guess who came climbing up to meet us? Well, okay, you can’t guess–she was Billy’s mama’s first cousin (or something like that), Helen. Seventy-eight years old and stepping up those seats to the top as if she were sixteen. Helen’s vivacity and health are enviable. At one point, when she needed a trip to the land of ladies only, she turned around on the bench–the top bench, mind you–and dropped easily to the concrete below. Then (and I’m so embarrassed to mention this), she offered me her shoulder to steady myself on my venture down the back of the stands.

Helen is only a little quirky. Her eccentricity is usually hidden, this time under her pants legs: She wore Halloween socks with bright orange pompons. When I pointed these out to my sister-in-law, she became giddy over them. With all the gushing, Helen decided there was nothing better to do than to take them off and give them away. Right then and there. Then she turned to me and ordered me to come to her house later in the day to receive another pair of Halloween socks. She wanted to treat us fairly. (Yes, I got the socks. Classic Jack O’ Lanterns with their wicked smiles and triangular eyes polka-dot a pair of otherwise white socks which are useful only once a year–and I love them!)

Back to the auction:

Usually, Billy and I spend an outlandish amount of money on home-made goodies, even things I can make myself; but this year, I decided to sit on my hands. I have this sneaky suspicion the natives see me coming and mark me as an easy hit. I didn’t bid on a thing this time. Instead, I nudged Billy for him to bid on some items. Sure enough–no one hiked up his prices like they do mine every year. I can’t remember what all we bought, not as much as usual, but I do know we have about thirty pounds of sweet potatoes we didn’t leave the house with. Thirty pounds! I’ve been serving them at every meal since we got home, and yesterday, I made six jars of sweet potato butter. I followed a recipe for pumpkin butter, with only a slight modification, and came up with the best breakfast spread you can sink your teeth–assuming you like sweet potatoes.

The sweet potatoes weren’t all we brought from Bremond. Aside from visiting Helen in her home, we also dropped in to see Aunt Marie and Uncle Paul. Y’all may remember them; I’ve mentioned them before. Aunt Marie makes the absolute best dill pickles on the planet, and she loves me enough to make sure I have a jar or two to stash away for when we get home. This year, aside from the pickles, we went to her backyard and picked a half-bushel of pears off her tree. I’m making preserves out of some of them today, and probably tomorrow too, since I have so many.

Helen and Aunt Marie didn’t send us away empty-handed. They followed the wonderful tradition of small town America to share whatever they had with whomever crossed their thresholds. Their generosity is so touching, and it makes me wonder what would happen if the tradition caught on in the rest of the nation.

I’m going to spare you the details of my trip to the outlet mall, where I cried at the racks holding beautiful clothes in every size but mine; where I stared in disgust at a reflection that somehow got older with no fair warning; where heaps of clothes that should’ve fit landed on one side of the dressing room and the few that did fit were treasured surprises. Nope, I’m not going to tell you about all that. Instead, I’m going straight to the river and the visit to San Antonio.

Bet ya can’t wait!