The night before the celebration, Grandma would stay up long into the night baking fresh bread, cloverleaf rolls and cinnamon rolls. The latter were always adorned with walnuts and maraschino cherries. Raisins and brown sugar had been rolled into the center of the dough before being baked into tasty buns.
Earlier that day, Old Tom, the turkey, had been taken from his pen, where Grandpa kept him throughout the summer and fall. He was then taken to the woodpile, his neck stretched across the chop-block and his head cut off. It was my job to help pluck Old Tom and though plucking his beautiful feathers saddened me, I knew that the next day Grandma would bring him out of the oven, golden brown.
Early on Thanksgiving morning, before the sun rose, Mom and I would make the trek across the field to Grandma's. When we arrived, Old Tom, who usually weighed about twenty pounds, had already been stuffed with sage stuffing and was roasting in the oven of the cookstove. Then the real work began. Potatoes, squash and turnips were peeled, cut up and placed in huge pots of cold water to keep them crisp. Carrots and parsnips were scrubbed clean to be boiled later in the day. Grandma always made both fried and creamed carrots so everyone would enjoy their favorite.
It was my job to help peel the vegetables, set the table, keep the woodbox full and stoke the stove. Grandma and Mom were too busy for these menial tasks that could be done by a child.
Once the table was set (plates upside down until just before the meal) pies, cobbler, cinnamon rolls and apple cider were brought from the summer kitchen and placed on the buffet and sideboard. These would be warmed in the warming closet of the stove before being put on the table.
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