As the sun sets and evening light streams into the pavilion, a giant bearded German in weathered lederhosen enters the dance floor. With a wooden walking stick in one hand and a tall beer stein in the other, he commands the audience to "Raise 'em up real high and yell, 'Prost!'" Then he introduces the German dancers--youths and adults--who practice weekly for these summer performances.
With their thigh-slapping and foot-stomping moves, the men in feather-adorned hats and suspenders woo the ladies, who twirl expertly in their blue dirndls.
"I think I could do that!" my husband says, pointing to the men on the dance floor. He's as exuberant as the crowd, which demands an encore.
On our way out of the park, we stop to say goodbye to a man who shared our table. He grabs our Nerf football and tells my son to go out for a pass. “Go long!” he shouts. Andy waits, arms outstretched, standing amidst rows of packed picnic tables. Our new friend throws the ball and nails a guy in the side of the head. He runs over to apologize to the fellow picnicker, but the guy just laughs it off and goes back to drinking his beer. At German Park Picnic, it seems no one wants to spoil the fun.