This picnic table has been in our lives since the late days of our residence at 1005. We were there from 1998-2005.
It’s a member of our family, and like all B-Ks, it’s been put through its paces. The picnic table originated with another household, and was not a small purchase for us at the time (great condition + broke-ass = hold yr breath and write the check). We were trying to build an outdoor life in a rental house, and a sturdy, beautiful picnic table with two benches symbolized how we would spend the coming years with our children and our friends and neighbors. It meant the lingering over a cherry pie at the Summer Solstice, elbows on the table. It meant workaday and it meant special occasion. Commitment Furniture.
I had every intention of preserving its heavy, 70s-vintage beauty by coating it in linseed oil (per my friend Jeanne) and also making sure it didn’t spend time out in the elements, but most of the time the table sat folornly in the rain, devoid of linseed oil or any other protectant, and baked in the sun as it dried. Thoughts of the linseed oil project seemed to invite more rain, and the cycle would begin anew.
But the table was fine. We ate there between storms all summer, pulling it into the yard or just eating in the driveway.
Then we moved to 909. The kids went to school. I went to work. Sunshine and lots of space to work with made for new and exciting gardening challenges. Everything was different! But the table remained constant, taking its customary place in the driveway. It’s stayed there for the last 11 years, except when we hustle it into the garage for the winter every November, prodded by a late fall storm. We then haul it out with great optimism and enthusiasm on that one really warm and sunny weekend that comes every March and get down to the business – or try to – of living around the table.
Outdoor life at 909 has waxed and waned. We still eat at the table. I also use it to repot plants and start seeds.
The cats drape themselves over it and have found it delightful as a scratching post. Squirrels crack nuts and leave pieces of old pizza wedged between planks. I’ve composed many a blog post at that table (though not this one); we’ve had lots of beers with friends there. I’ve interviewed people at that table. [If that table could speak…] It’s also been a beautiful-then-trendy weathered backdrop for taking photos of vegetables and flowers and other stuff.
Like everyone else chez B-K, it’s got a few years and a lot of mileage on it. Putting your elbows on the table now results in splinters. The benches got some new screws this spring because the other ones just… fell out. We’ve already had a graduation party at the table this year, and I decided recently to try to germinate a bunch of seeds from 2010 to see what would happen. I got them settled into the dirt at the table.
However, my vision of myself on a sunny day, lovingly coating the picnic table (which, in my vision, is sitting prettily on a thrifted vintage sheet in the driveway) still has not come to pass, alas.
Giving your children wings so they can fly away from the nest and all that other corny stuff… can sometimes be quite literal.
Mad respect to my daughter, Lilly, for rocking it out academically, coping with adversity, injury, and rehabbing that injury, applying to and getting accepted at a bunch of schools (she’s headed here in the fall), ending her high school soccer career with the finest of exclamation points in the post-season (one of these), landing a summer job and getting started almost immediately after graduation, and for having the guts to not just go up in an adorable little Piper Cub, but also to fly it. That’s her up there.
I’ll keep watching from down here, thanks. With great interest.