Thanksgiving Day

So different, so much the same! But that's true always, no? Perhaps this year poses for most of us the greatest hurdles toward being in each others embrace, but then, there have always been years with great stress. No one goes through life without some amount of drama or disappointment  and Thanksgiving can't always heal pain and promise us unbounded joy and unity. And maybe this year, when we appreciate the togetherness we cannot have, we are, in fact, more likely to love deeply, at a distance, to feel grateful for the time that we had and that will come again. There is happiness in gratitude. True happiness. And so yes, I am wishing you all a happy Thanksgiving holiday.

A real November day: cold, but not freezing. Damp, but not super wet. I walk with the gang to the animal feeding stations. Let me honor the oldest of them all -- Java. Such a mother hen. She doesn't run like the rest, she hops and gallops. Like a chicken on a pogo stick!

 

Let me honor, too, the farmhouse that gives us so much comfort and joy...

And now it's breakfast. Special today. Apple cake from the bakery. (I snipped some sweet pea shoots and mint sprigs from the yard. These plants seem not to care that we are past the growing season!)

And now it's time to roll up the sleeves and hit the kitchen. In trying to stay within the bounds of sanity, I cut out one of the dishes. [I heard on NPR that on average, people are gathering in wee groups but spending way more on Thanksgiving food this year. Odd how we try to fill a void with overabundance.]

Do you mind if I skip baking the corn muffins? -- I ask Ed.

Gorgeous, do you want to skip the turkey? That's okay too!  Yep, he always makes me laugh. 

I start with the cranberries. Have to use frozen ones this year, but believe me, no one will notice. (With apples and spices. Recipe from one of my favorite (occasional) bloggers, the ever generous and talented Catherine at Ben and Birdy.)

 

Somewhere in the background I have the Macy's parade. When Santa comes, I'm to hop over to my daughter's house with this pie. (Purchased, not baked by me.)

 

(Hey, Mrs. Claus is in a mask. Perhaps my grandkids will feel common fellowship with her, having had to mask up routinely to keep others safe.)

Outside, distanced. I back far away so that I can have them take off their masks for this photo...

Home again. This is where I have a window of no kitchen work. Too early to work with the turkey. Ed and I are about to take a walk, when the FB Messenger jimgles. It's Primrose, with parents!

And that's not all -- we connect to my Madison daughter and her brood. Hey Ed, look, we're all together!

Utterly delightful!!! Happy Thanksgiving indeed!

 

And now Ed and I do take a walk. We climb up the construction hills to the east of us, just to check things out. 

(A view of the farmette: bare trees reveal the outlines of the farmhouse, the silo, the sheds and the barn)

It's muddy. I mean, really muddy. We retreat and stick to the sidewalks of the New Development, pausing every time we come across a puddle to work on cleaning our shoes. I'd say this ranked as a very "interesting" stroll. 

And now kitchen work intensifies. Bird is prepped and goes in. I make the turkey stock and get the potatoes -- both sweet and yukons -- ready for their scalloped bake. And brussle sprouts. And mushrooms for the gravy. That's the Thanksgiving roll: everything starts slowly and then intensifies as the dinner hour approaches.

Finally. The turkeys are done!

For the Madison young family -- herbed. For the Chicago bunch -- spatchcocked  and brined. For Ed and me -- herbed as well. Three turkeys. Shared in the classic 2020 way: on screens!

 

Ed and I sit down to our dinner. Next to each other, as we like to do when we go out to eat.

Plates of food, with the colors of a Thanksgiving meal. Repeated in more households that I can imagine.

After the meal there are always the dishes. Lots and lots of dishes. As I go through the steps of cleaning up, I think about those who had a tougher year. So many people to worry about, to wish well in these most difficult times. So many stressed families. Maybe this day, with its turkeys and cranberries and yams, was just a little more normal. Maybe people could take the time to smile, to exhale. Maybe even to feel happy.

With love...