I'll never complain about Pampered Chef parties again

My mother brought me a huge stack of quilting books on Sunday, things she's decluttering that she thought I might want. I'm not a quilter and don't see myself becoming one anytime soon but I am the sort of person who has to read or at least skim any printed material set in front of me.

This tendency was rewarded last night with my discovery of the lamest neighborhood parties in our nation's history. I was paging through The American Quilt Story by Susan Jenkins and Linda Seward, a book that limns the country's history in textile arts. In a section on the pre-Civil-War decades, the authors discuss the community spirit and necessity that led to barn-raisings and quilting bees.

Sure, everyone's heard of those. But did you know about stone-bees, parties centered around clearing rocks from farmers' fields? Fun enough, but my favorite was the dunging-frolics, which sound kind of naughty and weird but were just an excuse to get together and cover those fields with animal crap.

The book only mentions these things in passing so I am left to wonder about dunging-frolic etiquette? What does one wear to such an event? Do you go festive or practical? On the one hand, frolic. On the other hand, dung. What's an appropriate hostess gift for a dunging-frolic? I would go with a gagging noise and a whispered, "You owe me big for this, lady." Just like a regular family gathering, I guess.