My Dad has asked my sisters and I
to start coming up with ideas for Thanksgiving and family traditions. Since the
baby of the family just turned 19, it may seem strange that we’re JUST NOW
getting around to creating traditions for such a common holiday… Our former
Thanksgivings were almost all spent at the family farm in the Ozarks (minus the
few years we lived on islands and one or two others where the drive was longer
than 9 hours- thank you Navy :)
Thanksgiving used to go like
this:
The family would bundle into our
minivan, later our suburban, and finally just take two cars and drive to
northern Arkansas- a small town called Heber Springs. The tree leaves would
have lost most of the radiant red and orange colors and be down to the yellows
and browns. The air would be crisp and cool allowing sounds to seem sharper. I
LOVED arriving late in the evening when it was dark because we had to drive
down and around the mountain into the little town. There were twinkling lights
and the car’s windows would be so cold that my breath would fog them up as I
savored the view.
The little town is so full of
memories because both of my parents had relatives that lived there. We’d stay
with my Dad’s parents and spend Thanksgiving day at the farm with my Mom’s
extended family.
When we were younger, we’d pile
into my grandparents’ house with the long single hallway that connected the
main living space to the den/office. Three bedrooms and a tiny bathroom opened
up into that long hallway where my sisters and cousins and I played football,
monkey in the middle, bowling, did puzzles, and generally got in the way of any
adults trying to get anywhere. Occasionally we’d get to commandeer the tv and
watch one of the 4 or 5 Disney movies my grandparents owned (my favorite was Bambi),
but usually the menfolk watched football and the womenfolk would go shopping
and antiquing, leaving us kids to fend for ourselves. We’d often get kicked
outside to play where most of our games involved imagination because other than
a tire-swing and the old boat by the fence, I don’t remember any toys. The
nearby middle school track and playground were a great attraction and the
pretty downtown park- but we usually needed an adult and a vehicle to get
there.
Thursday morning would find us in
front of the tv watching the Macy’s Day parade while Mom brushed and fixed all
four of her daughters’ hair. Once we were sufficiently bundled, brushed and
staticky, we’d pile into one vehicle, wave goodbye to my Dad’s relatives for
the next 7-10 hours, and drive 15 minutes to the Holland Farm. Here anywhere
from 85-120 cousins, aunts and uncles gathered to spend the day together. We’d
arrive around 10-11am and immediately greet grandparents, before running to
play. The Farm is HUGE. The kids would be scattered on the old bag swing,
hanging on the fences looking at the cows and mule (and later horses), petting
the dogs, watching the guinea fowl and chickens, climbing into the big red barn’s
hayloft for some hay fights, poking at the tractors, tossing a football,
catching up with cousins from the other side of the continent, walking around
the old tennis court, searching through the empty small house used as a storage
space, and daring each other to mess with the old white bull that hated the
color blue instead of red…easy to do since most everyone was wearing bluejeans!
Once most of the relatives had
arrived, the kids would be summoned from all points of the farm for the prayer
and the meal. Thanksgiving was a time to be thankful and so Uncle Tommy and
Aunt Mary (my Granny’s big brother and his wife) would start by mentioning
family members that couldn’t join us or had passed away that year and then any
new arrivals: spouses, babies, or even boy/girlfriends (how embarrassing for
them!). Then someone would be asked to pray before we formed a line for the
delicious potluck meal. I never paid enough attention to which family member brought
which dish. Aunt Mary cooked all the rolls and kept them in a large cooler
wrapped in dishtowels to keep them warm. There were several different sides and
some that were almost similar but not quite so that you never had enough room on
your durable Chinet paper plate. The tiny kitchen counter would be hidden under
all the dishes which meant desserts had to go on a completely separate table at the window
behind the little dining table (which was reserved for Uncle Tommy and his
siblings and their spouses…and didn’t used to be big enough).
Most of the family would eat
outdoors at long folding tables with metal folding chairs. The big front lawn
had plenty of room and it rarely ever rained on Thanksgiving- only 1 or 2 times
that I remember. Those years the tables were squeezed under the carport and we
managed. :)
After the meal, the tables would
be folded away and the men would have their annual football game (the old men vs.
the young)! The women would sit in the folding chairs along the front of the
house and cheer on their spouses and sons. The girls and any boys too young to
play, would climb onto the roof of the storm cellar for a better view of the
game. I rarely watched, because usually we’d saddle up Old Sally (the mule) and
later our cousin’s horses during this time. I preferred to ride. One year I
rode a particularly stubborn tall black horse. She decided that she wanted to
go the opposite direction I was pointing her and tripped herself. When she
started to stumble I thought: “Oh she’s fine” but that quickly changed to shock
when she fell over on top of my leg. The stirrup kept my foot from being
crushed, but my knee suffered some trauma and every once in a while when I’ve
been running too hard or worn heels too long it flares up in pain. I spent the
rest of that afternoon watching the men’s football game while icing it and the
next day in the ER getting x-rays and a pair of crutches. :)
After the football game, the
tractors are attached to the long trailers and hay bales are loaded onto the
edges of the trailer to form seats. Many mothers have packed quilts and
blankets that are brought out as padding and insulation from the chilly
November evening. The family then piles on for the long ride around the farm.
We go through many gates and the ride takes about an hour as we go through
several of my uncle’s pastures which once were full of cattle but now are
mostly tree farms. The cows follow us and eat the hay we throw to them. One
year we grabbed my cousin’s hands just in time as the bale he was sitting on
was ripped from the end of the trailer by a couple of very hungry cows! There are also deer quietly
watching us through the trees and we cross some beautiful brooks. The Ozarks
are just stunning.
We get back to the farm as the
moon is rising and partake of our second or third helpings for the day before
families slowly begin to depart for the evening. The fireplace and the outdoor
fire pit are some of the most popular places for the adults while the kids grab
some flashlights for fun variations of hide-and-seek or tag.
Eventually our parents bundle us
up and take us back to our Dad’s parents' place where we are spoiled with hot
cocoa and our parents try to keep any hay from making a mess- impossible, since
their four little blonde daughters have been rolling in it, stuffing it down
each other’s shirts, and sitting on it for the hay ride.
The following day includes more
fun with the cousins, a trip to see the giant trumpet swans, and possibly
fishing. The evening includes another get-together at my Mom’s cousin’s house
where we have snacks, a light dinner, and play Catch Phrase, Pictionary, and
Charades. Usually there’s a dog inside that doesn’t mind cuddling and a cat or
two on the porch willing to accept a scratch or two behind the ears. The
stairwell wall is covered in stuffed birds and animal heads.
I will miss those many years of
tradition. Both my Dad’s parents are gone and that house with the long hallway
has been sold. My Mom’s mom is gone and the farm isn’t the same without my
precious Granny. The horses have gotten wild because the cousins are in high
school and college and don’t have the time to ride them. The little kids are
now the men playing football or the young women sharing secrets with their
cousins as they walk around the farm. My cousins are too grown up to play and
often sneak away to nap or make phone calls or chase down their own children. The
babies I held just a few years ago are now kids wrestling in the hay loft, swinging
on the old bag swing or chasing the chickens. But most different of all is the
tiny graveyard that now exists halfway down the main pasture and down a
straight lane between tall trees. There, surrounded by quiet, minus the tiny
brook babbling nearby and the wind through the leaves of the trees, rests the
body of my Granny. Her headstone is a giant Arkansas rock covered in lichen and
moss with a bronze placard. This is a special place where only she, my Grandad,
and my Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary (the owners of the farm) will be buried. My
Uncle had the place legally designated as a cemetery plot after the bones of
Native Americans were discovered there. She is the first of the four to go. It’s
bittersweet.
So now that my Dad has asked what
I want to do for Thanksgiving and how we should create our own family
traditions I have no idea. Thanksgiving this year will be the single day off in
the middle of one of my best friend’s wedding preparations. Perhaps as the
years progress it will not matter so much.
I think most importantly it will
be nice to still get to spend the day with people I love and reflect on the
many things I have to be grateful for! So…
What are some of your
Thanksgiving traditions? Do you go somewhere, play something special, always
eat a certain dish? I need ideas…
