Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. I’m sure some of you feel that way too. Unlike Christmas, which has come to be associated, unfairly, with the stress of gift-buying, wrapping, and giving, Thanksgiving is about family and food. And food in huge, uneatable, American-sized portions that leave us unable to stand, walk, or even change the channel as a parade of football games make such an adjustment undesirable anyway!
One of the things I like most about the holiday is its true American roots. Don’t get me wrong, many cultures have a day for giving thanks and celebrating a bountiful harvest, but Thanksgiving is the American version and one of the few holidays we didn’t inherit from other countries. Declared a federal US holiday by none other than President Abraham Lincoln in 1863, roots in both Plymouth Rock and the Civil War lend the holiday its true “Made in America” label. The historian in me loves this connection.
Unsurprisingly, I also love the food. Mind you, at my age I have to be very careful when I love the food. I’ve long since stopped growing upward and can literally feel my body attempting to compensate by growing outward! Still, this is a holiday which celebrates bounty and the consumption of turkey, stuffing, ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, acorn squash, cranberries, candied yams . . . sorry, this is making me hungry, but you get my point. Thanksgiving is the one day each year we celebrate our blessings and those bestowed upon our nation . . . by feasting.
All that said, as I get older, I’ve found I enjoy the preparation of these traditional foods far more than I enjoy the consumption itself. This is odd since I can distinctly remember as a child watching adults prepare this meal for years—or so it seemed to my young eyes and ravenous tummy—but at least all morning. Then, when blessings were said and the moment finally arrived, I’d virtually dive into my first of what was likely to be five or six plates in an attempt to satiate a year’s worth of desire and longing for these special holiday dishes.
Now, with the prospect of guilt overriding desire a plate-and-a-half in—to say nothing of the post-meal exercise I’ve already begun planning—I’ve come to derive much more pleasure from the preparation of this meal. The yearly battle with a turkey that resists reaching the right temperature with all its trussed might. The struggle to find that perfect balance of spices and herbs in the stuffing. The quest to create the perfect crust for my pecan pie. The planning and strategizing that must be accomplished to make it all come together on time for whomever we’ve invited. These are the things I’ve come to love about the holiday and which strongly appeal to the old soldier in me.
Then, of course, there’s the connection to something older and deeper that I’ve alluded to above. Thanksgiving is the one holiday I can vividly remember as a child. It’s also the one tradition that my family continues to carry on whenever possible despite living an ocean away from the Good old US of A. During the long preparation of this one special meal I remember those family members who’ve since passed on, something that I’m otherwise too busy or just too preoccupied to give much thought. It’s as if the act of preparation itself provides a window, of sorts, onto fond memories with loved ones.
My most memorable Thanksgiving was the first day of snow in Wisconsin, many, many years ago. I still remember the huge flakes gently falling onto a silent country farmscape. Remember distinctly the squeak of the outer screen door as my Grandmother called us inside with that most anticipated of declarations “Dinner’s ready!” My young heart skipped a beat with anticipation and without conscious thought I realized I was running for the door. The entire morning dedicated to this one feast—a virtual eternity for a child still unaccustomed to how much of life would be spent waiting for one thing or another—was finally upon us, and the thought made me genuinely happy. Still does.
And so, I wish this happiness upon all of you as well. Whatever the year’s brought you, whatever the next year is likely to hold, I hope you’re all able to take some time to just be thankful. No matter how tough the times, surely there’s something to be thankful for, and there’s always hope for a brighter future—even for an aspiring curmudgeon like me. Always.
Happy Thanksgiving!
M. G. Haynes