I can remember being on some creek bank in western Kentucky with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, plus my mother and daddy at what was surely a family fish fry. I must have been under five years old, but can still remember the old iron kettle, the same one that the wash was done in, with bubbling lard in it, and the men were all fishing on the creek banks. They were catching and cleaning fish and the women, as usual, were cooking. I can still see the fish rise to the top of that bubbling grease all golden brown and being lifted out in strainers.
In a related event, Reverend Fred Phelps and his group were present at the service to protest.
The Bear's family, not bound by the laws of man, promptly devoured the protestors.
All that remained after the carnage were a few bloody "God Hates Bears" signs, soiled undergarments, and an empty pic-a-nic basket.
Heh.