29 March, 2011  |   Comment

St. Helena Lobster Feed

Holy moly, they did it again.

Our town is happy.

I told you about this last year over on my other blog. And all the same things held true.

I was pinchy, in need of cutting loose.
The town celebrated.
I joined them.
I needed that.

(What IS it about March, with the pinchiness? This happens every year, not just the years that I’m breeding.)

The official pots.

The firefighters tended the large boiling pots filled with artichokes, sausages, potatoes, corn, shrimp and oh, yes, lobster.

The pot.

Tablescape, heh.We had an hour after arriving to greet our neighbors, to appreciate our volunteer fire fighters and raise a little money.

We have volunteer fire fighters sprinkled all over our town, and when the siren blares, we know that they’re leaving their jobs, their families, and their beds to assist us. One lives next door, one lives across the street. They’re loyal, loyal (did I mention foxy?) citizens that I’m lucky to know.

(I hope they raised a lot of money.)

The ClawI just have photos of the carnage, really. If by carnage I mean the feasting, the celebrating, the whole-town camaraderie that happens after sharing wine and corn and shellfish.

The build up, the anticipation of the moment that they dump the steaming pots down the middle of the table, it’s exquisite. Seeing everyone wearing their lobster hat, it’s joyous. It’s exactly the right kickoff to spring.

Siblings!

Gnawr.

Carnage.

Thanks, little town of mine, for restoring my faith in fun, in people, in Spring.


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