I grew up in a small town.
I know what you're thinking, but, smaller than that.
Really, super, insanely small. It wasn't just the kind of town where everyone knew everyone else, it was the kind of town where not infrequently, almost everyone was actually in the same room with everyone else.
There were a lot of things I didn't much care for about living in a town where a jump to 275 was considered a population boom, but one thing you couldn't argue with was the food.
A couple of times a year, we'd have pancake breakfasts at the town hall. The women would mix and bake and assemble and the men would fry up bacon and eggs and pancakes by the yard (because apparently, like grilling meat, flipping flapjacks is a masculine pursuit) and everyone would show up for breakfast.
Jim's mention of the Treadwell Franklin Walton United Methodist Church Pancake Griddle really reminded me of those long ago and far away pancake breakfasts. I think I have some pancake mix in the cupboard, but somehow, it wouldn't be the same.
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