The extra plate
A Pinelands Tale
By Paul Pedersan, Jr
Old ways and traditions die hard in the Pine Barrens. And such was the case with a tradition my mother held close, and still does, especially now. It was handed down to her from her mother, who got it from her mother, and so on. My sister and I, and some of the older Pineys hold on to it as well, to this day. It’s known as “The extra plate”.
Every year, the biggest, most special dinner my mother cooked at our house was Easter dinner. On Easter Sunday, mom would march me and my sister off to church very early in the morning, come back home, and start cooking. Sometimes ham. Sometimes rabbits. Sometimes lamb, or venison. But cook she did. For hours and hours. At around 4:30 PM, she’d start setting the dining room table, and directly across from where her place setting was, she would set an extra place setting. And every year, she’d put the same serving of food on the extra plate as was on the rest of our plates. My father would goad her and tease her about “serving food to the phantom who never shows up.” When dinner time ended, we’d fight and hassle each other over who got what from the extra plate, my father usually winning out. It was like that every year. And no one outside of our family ever showed up to sit there. Until that year.
That year, it snowed sideways for three days and nights before Easter Sunday, and never got above freezing. Folks in the Barrens still talk about the “Easter Nor’easter”. For us, it meant very little meat for dinner, as hunting was out of the question. What little there was in the freezer was barely enough, and had to be cooked on the wood stove by candle light, as the power was out, and had been for days.
And sure enough, Mom set the extra plate, and filled it with the stewed meats and beans she‘d cooked. Dad stared at it, looked at my mother, and was about to say something as we were sitting down to eat. And that’s when somebody knocked on the front door.
“Dear Lord, in this storm!” Mom said, a look of concern gashing across her face as she walked towards the front door, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Has to be some kind of nut, or somebody from the power company out there, for God’s sake!”, called my father after her, then mumbled, “and needs his head examined” as he ate another mouthful, looking towards the front of the house.
From the other room, we heard Mom speaking softly with someone. It sounded like a man’s voice, and we heard her pleading with him, “Please! Oh, please come in and have some hot food with us…”
She appeared, directly, in the dining room with a man standing next to her. We all stopped eating and looked at him, Dad saying, “Uhhh…welcome, stranger. And who are you, out on a night like this?”
“He’s having dinner with us is who he is!”, Mother said matter-of-factly. She led him over to the extra plate, and seated him. He was wrapped in many layers of what looked like sheets and blankets, with a hoody covering his head. He had very long hair and a very long beard, yet looked very young somehow. Almost pathetic.
“What are you doing out in weather like this?” my father asked, trying to be nice. I could see in his eyes that he was sizing this fellow up, and wasn’t real happy with what he was concluding.
“I’ve been traveling for some time now. Here and there. Nowhere in particular, really”, said the stranger, as he ate the stew and beans.
“Well”, said mother, “you can’t go back out in a storm like this. You must spend the night”, she said, looking at my father for re-assurance.
“By all means” father quipped.
“Thank you, but I must take my leave“, he said, looking at mother, smiling gently. “You have been so kind over the years, and I wanted to thank you in person. I only wish the spirit of sharing and giving that lives in your heart was shared by more.”
Getting up and walking to the front door, he turned, saying “Thank you, and bless you all”, and walked back out into the night. I ran to the door to watch him, but to my amazement, he was gone. Nowhere to be seen. And, shockingly, there were no footprints in the snow. It was like he’d simply vanished.
“Mom! Dad!” I yelled, running back to the table to tell them what I’d seen. Suddenly, the lights came back on, and I heard my mother say “Dear God! It’s full!”
She was standing in the kitchen looking into the refrigerator. It was chock-full of every kind of food imaginable. Meats. Dairy. Eggs. Vegetables. My father got up and stood there, staring in disbelief. We’d truly been blessed.
Dad passed on years ago, and my sister and I have our own families, now. We take turns having each other’s families, and mom, to our homes every year for Easter dinner. Regardless of whose home we share dinner in that year, there is still an extra plate set across from where Mom sits.
