Frankenstein's Picnic

Our Lady Help of Christians Church
Frankenstein, Mo.

Though the name Frankenstein may conjure up images of an out-of-control monster in most places, in central Missouri it brings to mind a sleepy hill-top village in Osage County.  According to my neighbor, Rich Samson, who grew up just down the hill from Frankenstein, the town's name has nothing to do with the Frankenstein, the book written by Mary Shelley and published in 1818 when Shelly was only 21.

According to Rich, the name came from a combination of the name of the farmer who donated the land, Gottfried Franken,  and the German word for "stone", which is "stein" - Franken-stein.  The solid stone church was completed in 1922 with the help of a German stonemason recruited by the citizens of Frankenstein and brought to Osage county from Germany to oversee the construction of the church. 

Last Sunday my family attended the annual picnic held by the Frankenstein parrish.  I'm not Catholic, but a love of fried chicken is something Baptists and Catholics have in common.  For $10 the picnic features all-you-can-eat chicken, roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, sauerkraut and beans, cole slaw, iced tea and a piece of pie.  I chose blackberry.  It was a tough choice between a half-dozen contenders.

Outside the church an ATV pulled a make-shift train of a dozen barrels on wheels filled with squealing kids around an obstacle course of craft booths, bingo tables and the line to get inside the church to eat.  My grandson, age 4 and obsessed with all things trains, rode the train with a permanent smile while singing:

Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track

I carried an umbrella.  To the west the sky held the promise of rain, a rare commodity these last few weeks.  "I hope you need that!" said one farmer as he passed by me.  I didn't. 

Inside the  Frankenstein Sanctuary

You won't find Frankenstein on a GPS - at least not on mine.  To get there take 50 Highway east from Jefferson City, turn left on Highway 100 at Linn, follow it to Highway C, turn left and it's 3 miles to Frankenstein.

It was the first picnic my parents have attended since relocating to Jefferson City from Springfield last fall.  Unlike most picnic attendees, my dad actually needs to put on some weight.  At these picnics, as long as you keep eating, they keep bringing more food.  That is probably against the law in New York, or soon will be, but in central Missouri it's a time-honored tradition.

A few more of these picnics should have my dad watching his calories like the rest of us.