We ate and were asked back
Don Harrold, Executive Editor
editor@enterprisepub.com
My wife and I live in Blair. When I took the job as Executive Editor of the Harrison County Times-Reporter, I believed the first thing I should do was meet people. And the best place to meet people is at a community meal.
Stories come from relationships. Relationships come from time together. The shared meal isn't just a metaphor; gathering around a table to eat is one of the oldest ways people have come to know one another.
Since the floods of 2011, Missouri Valley churches have opened their doors to those in need of a meal or a conversation. At each meal my wife and I attended, the story was the same: After the floods, the community meal was important — and today it's just part of what we do.
When I remarked to one resident how special it was to see so many gather weekly, I was told that it's one of the unremarked, and yet completely remarkable, great things about Missouri Valley. People who will say negative things about Missouri Valley, I was told, miss the undercurrent of goodness in the town.
It's not this way in every town.
Our first meal was at Missouri Valley United Methodist Church. We met a woman named Heather who showed us to the front door. The meal was baked spaghetti. There was so much food that we were offered a chance to take a pan home. We declined the offer, but the next day I thought about how "next day" baked spaghetti sounded like a good idea for lunch.
The second community dinner was at St. Patrick's — the Catholic church. We arrived, I thought, early enough. But our timing was just late enough to be offered the last serving of stew.
At that meal, my wife and I shared a bowl of stew. It felt good to reach across the table and dip my spoon into the bowl poured for us.
I was at peace with my wife, in Missouri Valley, at a church I had never stepped into, sharing a meal prepared for us all by people who did not know us — and welcomed us into their home.
We ate next at St. Paul Lutheran Church. The dinner was ham, green beans, roll with butter, dessert. Melba Struble, wife of Sherman, a Missouri Valley city councilman, came over to our table and greeted us.
While she spoke with my wife, I went to talk with Sherman. He was in conversation with a friend, but I got to shake both of their hands and tell a smiling Sherman I'd see him at the next council meeting.
Toward the end of our meal, I met Pastor Jean McCartney — a woman with kind eyes who reminded us that the spaghetti dinner was the next evening.
And then, on Thursday evening, we were back at St. Patrick's for the Ministerial Spaghetti Fundraiser. There was a $10-per-plate suggested offering. Melba Struble was at the front of the line, by the jar where money was deposited.
I said, "I've got a $20 bill, but I'll need $19 in change."
This joke broke a rule about comedy — that a joke must be funny, else it's not a joke.
I got to meet "Crazy," Connie, Pam, and Mark and Linda Bowers, who know my wife from attending church in Blair.
Again, we saw Pastor Jean McCartney in her clerical shirt serving our spaghetti noodles. The sauce, I heard, was spiced by Melba Struble.
We were greeted and hugged. We ate and were asked back.
It should be this way in every town.
