“Is everybody ready to go? David, you and Stephen, get your coats on and don’t forget your hats,” said Mary, noting that Susanna and Catherine were ready to go. We all got into the car and started off.

“Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go ----“, sang the children as we drove away. The river was very small, and there were no woods at all. But that made no difference to the singers. They had the spirit of the day.

Granny’s house was an ordinary one, similar in looks to many others in the neighborhood, only a good bit older. The house sat on a plot of about five acres. A small stream split the plot, with an apple orchard one side, the house on the other. Granny’s summer flower garden, then just dry sticks, lay between the house and the stream. A row of young walnut trees lined the other side of the house, separated by a driveway. Behind the house were her tool shed and her vegetable garden space.

We parked in the driveway, got out and climbed four or five steps to the front porch and went in. We were greeted with the aroma of good things cooking as soon as we opened the door. Inside we found Mary’s sister Ruth and the other Taylors, Bob and kids Rebecca and Bill, with Homer the dog. Granny, a widow named Bess, was in the kitchen and was soon joined by the pair of daughters. Bye and bye, Mary’s brother Bob Werff, better known to the family as Petie, with wife Alberta and son Gary, all arrived with appetites. The family had all gathered. Lots of questions and answers ensued about what everybody had been doing. Shortly the conversation hushed at the announcement that dinner was almost ready. A lightly browned turkey sat on the table for everyone to see. Then it was whisked away to the kitchen. It was expedient to carve the bird in the kitchen. “Ready!” came the welcome word, and the gang assembled to partake of the beast.

“Our God, we thank you for-----”, Granny began, and my own thoughts took over. I’m thankful for all the things I like, and maybe some things I don’t.

I like turkey, but prefer steak. I like cranberry relish with my turkey. I like sweet potatoes, apple pie, apple blossoms, and apples. I like beer with my pizza. In short, I like good food.

I like to walk in the woods, along easy trails where a brook flows and wild flowers bloom. I like being surrounded by mountains. I like to visit waterfalls and feel their cool spray on a hot day, to watch the intricate patterns the water forms during freefall after its impact with an object such as a rock.

I like the infinite sounds of a symphony orchestra playing the music of the master composers

I like the presence of family. It is a great feeling to be near loved ones.

“----Amen” 

As in most every family Thanksgiving dinner, everyone ate until he was stuffed. After dinner the usual slothfulness set in and nothing important happened. Finally commotion of the kids got somebody’s attention.

”Line up on the couch,” the photographer instructed. After a lot of rearranging the group was all set. Seven small bodies sat side by side looking reasonably happy, except for the kid on the end. Gary would have no part of it. He hollered and cried as if he were being tortured. We got the picture anyway. A year later the same Thanksgiving scene was repeated, including a picture of the kids. To our amazement the picture was the same, except that the crying one was three years old rather than two.

The Thanksgiving dinner was an annual event until Granny moved to a small apartment in town. She had gotten a job after Petie got married and moved out. Feeling her place was too much to care for alone, she sold it and moved to the apartment.

Mary decided that since her mother could not have a dinner for a gang in her small apartment that the gang should come to our house for dinner. The next Thanksgiving day they all showed up at our house. The main difference that I noticed was that soon after dinner Petie and Alberta left because they had to go and eat Thanksgiving dinner again at her mother’s house, while the rest of us hung around and ate leftovers.

Mary’s invitation lead to an annual event for her siblings and their families. Each year the gang came, except for the year that the Taylors were in El Paso. It puzzled me that neither of Mary’s siblings ever thought of inviting their mother and their sister to a Thanksgiving dinner.