November 27, 2020
Thanksgiving, when my mom was growing up on this property, consisted of a very formal, very fancy, very traditional meal complete with the minister and his wife joining the family at the table. This was followed later in the day by an equally informal bonfire, with a bit of food and plenty to drink – and presumably without the minister (or his wife).
After my grandmother died no one had a house big enough to fit all the siblings and all of the offspring they'd each accumulated over the years, so they dispensed with the indoor dinner, and all of it's formality, and moved the entire soiree outside. That tradition has continued, regardless of the weather, for the past 55 years.
The motto is “no matter what!” and indeed, we have all come to regard inclement weather as a badge of honor. We have had glorious 60 degree days with a half dozen “family tables” each proudly adorned with a turkey and magnificent sides - and other years when we've eaten dinner quickly, trying to stay warm by the massive bonfire - and then played touch football in the snow.
There are usually 60 or so people, most of whom I am related to - and a few I'm pretty sure I'm not required to know, guests of someone or other - and there have been a couple times when I suspected someone of just walking in off the street. I like to think it's the largest annual gathering of introverts on the planet, united in our love of family, our land, and tradition.
This year, there was only 5 of us, which was a sad reminder of this seemingly sparse and desolate year. But even in this year, with 2020 heading out the door, there is much to be grateful for, even if it is for nothing more than our health, and the fact that we don't normally have to eat outside in the rain.
The sheep, having been kicked out of their pasture for the day hung out under the shelter of the cedar trees and watched us and wondered, no doubt, what was up. The pigs waited patiently for any left over mash potatoes, or for someone to accidentally leave the gate open. And the chickens up on the hill, I'm sure, were filled with gratitude if for no other reason than that they weren't born turkeys.