By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
I suppose, if we’re summing it up, I am a sucker for tradition. Something about a custom held tightly over long spans of time appeals to me. For me, it’s an intoxicating mix of history, affection, and sentimentality that I simply cannot overlook. I couldn’t possibly explain the feeling of warm connection that comes from holding fast to a long-passed-down ethic. I don’t love every festive moment of the season (Halloween, for instance, I could utterly do without), but there are so many opportunities for pleasure that I can’t help but be drawn in. Perhaps that makes me a tradition lover—but a selective one.
This time of year brings all sorts of glorious customary goings-on. Autumn offers a wealth of festivities that are a real treat. As I type, I’ve just returned from a lovely festival that happens every October not far from my home. It’s affectionately called Syrup Soppin’. For context, at this festival, sugar cane is pressed in a mule-driven contraption and then the resulting juice is cooked down in a gigantic kettle. That’s the namesake of it —but I cannot stress enough all the other glorious things that come along with it. I look forward to this Saturday in late October every year.
Upon arrival, it’s the smells that welcome you first. Wood smoke wafts through the crowd from fires hosting boiling cauldrons filled with camp stew or greens dotted with huge slabs of smoked meat. And of course, off to the side, cornbread is being prepared, because anything served from those pots would certainly be enhanced by a slice. People stand over these kettles with wooden paddles, constantly stirring—because there’s not much worse than a scorched pot. Once that happens, all the deliciousness goes to the dogs—if they’ll even eat it.
Other mouthwatering fragrances mingle in from the food vendors, and honestly, I never know if it’s better to come hungry or to eat beforehand. I’d say come hungry—because even if you’ve already eaten, you’ll still be so tempted by all the glorious options that you’ll eat anyway. It’s better to be filling an empty, excited belly than a miserable, overfull one. (I may or may not be speaking from experience.)
There are people selling everything imaginable—handmade knives, home décor, toys, baked goods, and everything in between. Petting zoos and pony rides abound. Families with babies in strollers and children with painted faces weave among tents that offer something for everyone. Friends spot each other for the first time in ages; dogs meet for the first time, too—some happy to socialize, others, judging by the noise, less so.
The whole event is a joyful mix of games, food, and history. There are even multiple historic displays—one of which, blacksmithing, fascinated my daughter far more than anyone anticipated. And all over the South, this time of year brings out festivals like this, celebrating anything and everything. The cooler weather and that gentle slope toward the holidays seem to invite people to gather for the glory that is the Southern fall festival. Some celebrate the season itself, others syrup, cotton, sweet potatoes—or even fried pickles. It’s the simple pleasure of local products, culture, and people. I live for this kind of environment. It’s simple, but it’s joyous.
My daughter left with a crocheted chicken—complete with tiny crocheted chicks that tuck into its body just as a hen tucks her babies beneath her wings. She also left with a 3D-printed dragon—the same thing she got last year, which began a small obsession that has now grown into a collection. The rest of us—my husband, my parents, and I—all left with varying forms of fried food: funnel cake, ribbon fries, and corn dogs. Because if we know anything, it’s that once food is fried, it has reached its peak deliciousness.
We shopped. We people-watched. We ate. Everything about it was the best kind of celebration—a community gathering to revel in all it has to offer. And one of my favorite things in the world is just that: reveling in the joys of home.
Prose and Possibilities 