Saturday

Since my kids have flown the coop (decades have passed!) and set up homes of their own, there have been fewer than a handful of Thanksgivings where I have not had either one or both of them, along with their families, at my table for that traditional turkey dinner. Sure, there are other grandparents who also value time with them -- three other sets in fact -- but none of them are ardent Thanksgiving dinner preparers. Or at least they haven't clambered to roast turkeys for big crowds. Graciously, I should add. Less demand for the kids' presence makes it easier for the young families to sort this out in a way that can accommodate the needs of the very young.

This year, however, is one of those rare times when no one will be in Madison for Thanksgiving. Well, except for Ed and me. 

It is a perfectly reasonable arrangement. The kids' other grandfather, though not a dedicated cook himself, has wanted to have the bunch of them over for the holiday and he surely deserves to have that memorable experience on his own turf. So Ed and I are coasting according to our own whims and predilections. Thanksgiving 2023 will be imagined by me, for the two of us. I'm thinking back to past times when it was just us:  in that horrible first Covid year, we were alone, yet I stubbornly roasted a turkey and did the sides. We had a lot of leftovers. On a previous alone year, we  went out to a restaurant and it felt really dumb to sit in a dining room with a bunch of others, all waiting for their turkey slice to be brought by a harried waiter. And there was one other time that I recall -- we went out for sushi. Restaurants serving Asian food almost always stay open on the holidays. The proprietors couldn't wait for us to be done so that they could close up and go out shopping in Big Box stores that opened with big sales even before the day was done.

What's our idea for this year? Oh, suddenly, it's easy! Since Covid, many very nice restaurants are in the business of selling prepared foods to go. It works this way: they do the turkey, the sides -- all of it. You pick it up on Wednesday, and presumably throw it all in the microwave or maybe oven on Thursday, and boom! You've got yourself a meal! And since restaurants always give copious amounts of food, there are sure to be leftovers. What's Thanksgiving without Friday leftovers after all. 

This new game plan means that on the Saturday before Thanksgiving (today!) I am not making grocery shopping lists and I am not searching high and low for better veggie recipes, nor am I sweating over whether to spatchcock the turkey, or whether to brine it, in salt it, or smother it in mayo before roasting. (I've tried them all in the past. Spatchcocking is my favorite.) 

Instead, it is a Saturday like all other November Saturdays: I feed the animals in the early morning...

And because I love freshly baked goods for breakfast, I drive over to Madison Sourdough for their rolls, croissants and bread...

(sky so blue...)

And I sit down to the morning meal with Ed and it is joyous because, well, for no reason at all actually.

It is a very quiet day. I have time to make lists for the remaining weekends of this year, very few of which will be quiet ones!

In the afternoon, Ed and I return to Donald Park. We liked it a few weeks back and it seems like a good hike choice for Wisconsin hunting week. Many of the Ice Age trails within a short drive are now taken over by men with guns. I am not opposed to hunters claiming their hunting rights and privileges, I just don't enjoying being among them in November. So we go to Donald's because it's a county park and we're not going to hear the occasional explosion of gunpowder. No ducking stray bullets required!

We had hiked one segment of it before and we turn in the opposite direction today, following trails that skirt woodland, prairie, and the sandstone cliffs that are so endemic to this hilly region. 

We are impressed! The park grew out of a vision shared by local farm families and especially Delma Donald Woodburn and a neighbor, Pat Hitchcock. Donations, easements and some purchases helped establish the park. Delma died at the age of 104, Pat -- at a slightly younger age, and it is in their senior decades that they worked on ensuring that their vision for the Donald Park became a reality.

The park has only 475 acres, but it is magnificent nonetheless. The trails are varied and never boring. You're walking along a stream and the next minute you're cutting across a restored prairie. One more mile and you're climbing up steep rocks. 

(from the top)

All of it is lovely and we try to imagine what the place is like in other seasons. We'll surely return!

As we stroll along the stream (Deer Creek) that picks up spring waters and meanders south, ultimately pouring its waters into the Mississippi, we note that the sun has dipped below the horizon. In other words -- it's late! How long have we been walking?! 

We speed toward the car and drive home, pulling in just as it really is getting dark. We breathe a sigh of relief: all chickens accounted for! No predator visits tonight. Just the moon, a few stars and the lights twinkling over the farmhouse porch.