Thanksgivings Past

The dappled grey, fully saddled and bridled, rides first in the open air trailer, two companions nestled tight. His nose, hanging over the tip of the trailer, catches the prairie smells as the truck traverses a dusty road. His eyes are bright and hopeful and if a horse could smile, this one is.

The dry ranchland is as flat as a table and there’s not a cloud in the sky. A few pickup trucks are gathered in the distance, windows down, cowboys drinking coffee and smoking while they sort out the day.

This desolate scene is the background for my life. It circles the city where I was born and forever will be in my bones. Although my mother was one of them, few people would ever say it’s beautiful. I suppose the beauty is all about the Big Sky, which meets the land unimpeded as far as the eye can see.

Rarely am I nostalgic for this place, the home of my birth. But in the weeks leading to Thanksgiving, when there’s a nip in the air and most leaves have turned brown, I feel a nudge. One could almost set a watch by this, which slowly sneaks up until Boom!-I am homesick for the plains of Texas.

Do others feel this way about their “home” as we approach Thanksgiving? I can just sense it-a chill in the air, bright sun, long shadows on the brown grass. And inside, the smell of a large turkey roasting, a bustle in the kitchen, my aunt “sampling” the cornbread dressing. Spode and silver on the table, a card table added for the extras. My mother hardly sits during the meal, passing around a fresh, just out of the oven basket of homemade rolls and filling serving dishes with seconds and thirds. My dad says the prayer and then enjoys his food like no one else. 

I’ve heard that lots of families go for walks after Thanksgiving dinner, but not us. We find a place on the couch and take a nap to the tune of the Dallas Cowboys on television.

In past years I've experienced many iterations of Thanksgiving. This year we will be with friends, while missing family. And wherever you are for the holiday I wish you many blessings.