Oh my heck, it's time for the family Pike party -- and I fit right in!

By Gentri Lawrence

December 19, 2005 | Our annual "Pike party" is a gathering of people who have absolutely nothing in common except blood. And I'm still doubtful about that.

My family is not your traditional Utah Mormon family, they are damn and hell kind of people who raised a lot of mischief in their day, leaving good stories about panty raids and the time my uncles dressed up as girls and crashed a church slumber party.

I look forward to the Pike party every December. The family gathers at Grandma Lois' house on the main street of Grantsville. The old blue home with a large porch and swing sits two lots down from the family gas station, Lawrence's Texaco. Christmas lights twinkle on the eaves and through the window from the Christmas tree. One or two of Grandpa's old pickups sit out front, both of which are miraculously still running after all sorts of encounters with dirt roads and adventure.

Grandma Lois is your steel-toed shoe-wearing kind of grandma with a love of pioneer things, who makes the best sandwiches in the world. I don't know what she does to the simple bread, meat and cheese, but it is magic. Grandpa Dave spent his life working at Lawrence's gas station and was the first person to ever sag his pants. His colorful life produces the most amazing stories that he claims are all true, but he always tells them with a twinkle in his eye.

Uncle Dan usually offers one of his homegrown turkeys or pigs for the event. He lives next door to my family and the turkeys run around squawking all summer till they reach their delicious demise for a special event. Last year he named one of the pigs after me and it has been harder to eat pork since; well, that and the smell.

One-third of the family is avid Sierra Club members and ACLU supporters that have sued any number of environmental offenders. There's the guy in the butt rock band or is it heavy metal, I can never remember, but he always graces us in black leather and a new earring. One of my distant uncles came to the party once and I have yet to ever see him again. Uncle David complains constantly about him working at his carwash so I know that he at least gets out of the house. One of my great uncles has the longest snowy white beard I have ever seen. Throughout dinner I watch in awe that nothing ever gets caught in the hair when I can't even manage to avoid spilling on myself.

We used to pray like good Mormons but one third of the family threw a fit, refused to come to the party and wrote an editorial about my dad in a local newspaper. To get them all to come back, the rest of the family agreed to allow them to bless the food. Based on past experience we avoid talking about politics or religion all together at the party so I am unsure of their religious denomination. Each year the prayer is something new and exciting. Two years ago it was the love circle, hand-in-hand we moved to the center and back, loving each other. Yes, growing from love. Last year we were in the circle again listening to a special African tribal prayer that was read aloud to share love.

Another tradition is opening a gift after dinner. As a child this was a great treat to open a gift weeks before Christmas. The women bring gifts for the women and the men visa versa. The gifts are always random, from fake flower arrangements to hand-painted wooden salt and pepper shakers mixed in with the masculine but generic work gloves or flashlights.

The real treat of the party is the food. Aunt Christine's homemade salsa is just hot enough to still taste everything while still burning the tongue. Lawrence family baked beans that have a uniquely sweet taste are served every year and compliment Grandma Lois' famous deviled eggs that are enjoyable even though I hate eggs.

The most important food is the sugar cookies, which are phenomenal. I would do anything for these cookies, even just thinking about the colorfully frosted cookies my mouth water. These bits of heaven are not store bought, oh no, but Aunt Leta's secret recipe. For years I have tried to coax the recipe out of the petite, friendly lady but she refuses. The cookies are just the right sweetness, the perfect thickness and melt in your mouth. For days afterward I dream of red and green sprinkles and frosting atop perfect sugar cookies.

The Pike Party is coming up in a few weeks and I'm excited to hear some new stories. The sad truth is that I fit right in with this interesting family and the mischievous streak runs in my blood. I can't wait for the party; the sugar cookies are already calling my name.

NW
MS