We're Going on a Picnic!!!

Lunch, Anyone?

What is the origin of the word picnic? According to the World Book dictionary, it comes from the french word piquenique, perhaps a rhyming reduplication of the French word pique, which means to sting or prick. Hence, it would imply that one gets stung, probably from an insect.

I suppose that is why my father had the attitude he had about picnics. My mother, Ada, loved picnics. Whenever she suggested one, my dad, Landis, would say, "Ada, why must we go out and eat with the ants when we have a nice home to eat in?" Then she would reply, "But, Landis, they are so much fun." Most of the time we ended up going, simply because it was part of a family reunion, or with close friends, and he really didn't have another choice.

Many times the picnics were in a meadow where mother would lay a table cloth on the ground, and put the food and plates on it. Then we all sat around the edge on the grass and partook of the repast. Of course, we kids agreed with Mother. We loved picnics. We thought Dad was an old fogey, which he probably was.

That type of picnic is probably a thing of the past. Now we sit at tables around swimming pools or under pavilions to have our picnics. I suspect the food is much better today. We now grill corn, hamburgers, hot dogs, eat baked beans, and all types of goodies. In the old days it was cold chicken and sandwiches. Besides we no longer sit down with the ants. Dad still claimed to hate picnics even after we sat at tables. Perhaps he wanted to avoid the wasps then. Maybe he really didn't want to get stung on a piquenique.

However, knowing my dad as well as I did, I think it was just something he felt he had to do. He always had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to any kind of social gathering, especially if it involved my mother's kinfolk. The thing that scares me the most is that I am now beginning to prefer eating in air-conditioned comfort. Perhaps we should now call it a "heatnic," you know, a hetenique. Gro-a-a-a-a-n!!! I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist that. Now, that's the kind of humor my dad loved. Geez, I really am becoming Landis. Oh well, I guess I could do worse. He was a lot of fun on occasion, even though a rare occasion. Sorry, Dad, but it is the truth.