Moving to the orchard in 1979 was the beginning of many changes in our lives. Thanksgiving celebrations soon became the responsibility of someone else. I had always roasted the turkey and prepared the meal as my grandmother and mother had done. Suddenly, Thanksgiving meant days of making and baking pies, hundreds of pies. By the time we closed the store at noon on Thankgiving Day, I just wanted to crawl into bed. Others had to take over the dinner preparations.

Over the years each member of the family has created his/her own Thankgiving rituals. For me it means dinner with our son Matt’s family. They are joined by several other families and it is a happy occasion.

In my childhood we always celebrated with my mother’s family. In my memory it was a Norman Rockwell occasion. When I was eleven years old, my grandmother had a stroke and was an invalid the rest of her life. Thanksgiving dinners were held at our house or one of my uncles. The one that stands out in memory was going to take place at Uncle Dean’s house sixty miles from us. He and Aunt Alice had a new baby that we were eager to see.

Mother had made pies, ground the cranberries, oranges, and apples for the Cranberry Relish and baked rolls. Aunt Alice was preparing the rest of the meal.

We bundled into our 1939 Plymouth for the twenty mile drive to Flint where we would pick up Grandma from her nursing home. The weather was very cold and it was spitting snow. The roads were covered with slush that splashed up onto the engine. We were only half way to Flint when the car stalled. Daddy and Grandpa worked under the hood drying something off until it started again. Just before getting to Grandma’s, it stalled again.

Getting Grandma settled into the car was a feat. She was in a wheelchair that had to be negotiated down the front porch steps of the nursing home (no ramps there) and pushed through the slush, by this time it was snowing quite heavily. She was lifted into the front seat and we set off. It wasn’t long until we stalled again. It took some time to get it started. Mother and Daddy decided that it wasn’t safe to drive to Uncle Dean’s with the car in that condition. They stopped at a pay phone and called to say we couldn’t make it. By this time it was a real snow storm and our progress was very slow. Eventually we reached home.

There wasn’t any food in the house for a festive dinner but Mama set about putting together a meal. She always had some canned salmon in the house and potatoes and, being child of the depression, she could make a meal of almost anything.

Shortly before we were to eat our rather meager meal, the door burst open. Uncle Dean, Aunt Alice, baby Aldeana, and the entire Thanksgiving dinner had arrived. They had plowed through the storm to be with us and celebrate the holiday with our family. It was a joyous day.