Thanksgiving (Part I) - a time to go home

When I was a boy growing up on flatland in the Deep South, every year as autumn began to take the pine needles around our Georgia house, my parents would bundle my sister, my brother and me up in the station wagon, pack a couple of suitcases and we'd go "home" for Thanksgiving.

The trip, to my young and restless mind, seemed to last for day or weeks; in fact it was only about 7-8 hours from Augusta, Ga., to Tazewell County, Va. Mom's family lived in Richlands; Dad's, in Cedar Bluff and out on Jewell Ridge. Since the three localities were within a few miles of each other, we often got to see more uncles, aunts, in-laws and outlaws than I could keep track of.

Turkey: it seemed for those few days that sliced turkey meat was everywhere. I liked turkey, and I used to wonder why it only appeared once or twice each year. (Although most of the people in rural Appalachia probably don't need help, here's a site that can help you make the perfect turkey: Thanksgiving Turkey, Stuffing and Gravy Tips).

There were other things we only saw at Thanksgiving. Many of them, I've since decided, are aquired tastes. I was well into my 30's before I developed a use for stuffing; now I quite like it. Sweet potatoes I've decided are better without marshmellows. Cranberry sauce is best thought of as decorative; at least it never impressed my taste buds. And although I used to love pumpkin pie, I find now that it gives me heartburn...

As a young boy I often sat in the car as we went to visit yet another relative and thought, "they're going to make us eat again when we get there and I don't know if I can do it..."

I guess the thing that impressed me most about Thanksgiving in Richlands, Va., as a boy was the effort everyone made to be there. There was something special about having 12 to 20 people try and put whatever differences they might have aside and attempt to squeeze around the same table with each other at some family patriarch's house and share a meal and some time together.

Thanskgiving is not that different in Appalachia from the way it is in the rest of the U.S., I suppose. If there is a difference, it's that with the hunting season for turkey over on Nov. 14, people in my part of the world are a little less likely to have to go buy a bird from Butterball... (Check out the National Wild Turkey Federation if you're into shooting your own.)

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