Author: Evelyn

Upper Midwest Thanksgiving. Dining room table moved to the living room, set in front of the huge window. This window overlooked the sloping backyard, a mature Mountain Ash near the window and two 80 foot tall pine trees at the bottom of the sloped back yard. The base of the two trees, the widest swath of branches, created a natural pine fence completely blocking the view to the neighbors yard. The window was always a bit cold in winter, I’d always press my warm cheeks against the thick glass and allow the chill to wake me.

The turkey was always slightly dry, yet I had no idea until I learned to make my own turkey, decades later. Sometimes we had a pheasant, shot by my Grandpa or my Uncle. Always the warning to look for the shot that might be left in the meat. The warning was wasted on me, as I turned my nose at it. I still don’t appreciate pheasant as a dish. The bird itself is quite pretty, and common as you always see them dart across a back prairie road, or in the ditch, running next to the sedan for a moment. A flash before the bird heads for the safety of the crisp wind stripped corn stalks.

I loved my Grandma’s potatoes. They were always made from fresh potatoes, and not the soupy potato flakes so many in my family preferred. I do my Grandmother one better now, I leave the skins on. I will mix in a bit of milk or cream with the butter, just like she did, but you could never pour her potatoes, just as it should be.

Green bean casserole, the kind made from the recipe off the back of the mushroom soup can. Always bland, always loved. Corn, from a can or frozen, adorned with butter. A pumpkin pie, purchased from HyVee usually by an aunt or uncle. Sometimes an apple pie too. Rolls, the white heat and serve favorites of mine still today. Yams, from the can, with marshmallows on top. A green lettuce salad some years. Iceberg with croutons and carrots and radish.

Looking back, it was too basic, too bland. Yet Grandma’s Thanksgiving dinner was exactly what the family wanted. There is something special about having too many choices, a buffet of family favorites. There aren’t many dishes I carry over from those Thanksgivings to mine, but for the time the meal was perfectly amazing.

The End