Picnics and Memories and Grace, oh my!

I remember our first picnic table. It was my Mum's card table, sewing table, and my 'hideout' when she covered it with a square slipcover she sewed just for the occasion. This little table was taken into the garden every so often for family and friends' al fresco dining pleasure.

Later, its place was taken by a larger, more permanent structure, all metal rails and redwood planks that Dad had to re-stain every spring. I remember having to climb up onto the wooden seat, reaching with all of my toddler reaching strength to grab my share of whatever was in the offing. I remember how that table grew smaller every year.

I remember it re-appearing the year I turned nine, when we moved house to a place outside the city. Here, the birds and local wildlife left their markings on that table, giving me a new job to do. "Make sure you clean the table and the benches before the company gets here" Mum would call. No one wants to sit on the leavings of local birds and critters.

I remember the tables that took its place. Those in other countries. Redwood and weathered grey, concrete and makeshift spreads, laid across lawns and woods and pastures. I remember the lessons learned in those ways. How to camp, how to protect the food from... insects? Birds? Aunt Petunia's cats? Uncle Geoffrey? The boots of the local footballer clan?

And then there was the day when the tables turned to a banquet of the heart. And all of that 'table-cleaning' paved the way for something greater, something of wonder, something that can never fade away.

The grace of little learnings so sets our sails that when the deeper learning launches, we have already set sail among its uncharted waters.

What stories does an 'empty' picnic table inspire you to create? What banquets are there to be shared?