A Thanksgiving Story

This gray breezy morning I think of those who make Thanksgiving for their families. My generation is now the group who roll out pie crust, mash potatoes, whisk lumps out of the gravy, and whip the cream. As a girl and teenager, I loved being underfoot in the kitchen listening to my grandmother, mother, aunts, and cousins chatter as they prepared Thanksgiving dinner. They were cooking for a crowd. 

In 1940, one of Dad's uncles lost his wife. My grandmother and sister invited Uncle Henry and his three daughters to join their two families for Thanksgiving dinner. From that act of kindness, fourteen family members began a Thanksgiving tradition that continued for sixty years. The cousins around that first table grew up, married, and brought their wives and children. The celebration rotated among families, several who lived in big old farm houses. My sister and I giggled our way through dinners with cousins and second cousins at a card table set up in a bedroom. We played outdoors in the afternoon. Leftovers and pie were served around 4:30 p.m. so the farmers could go home for chores. Since several of Dad's cousins were dairy farmers, the whipped cream was plentiful. 

After I married, the gathering moved to a community hall. My husband and I took our children a few times. At one of those dinners, a new daughter-in-law brought Cool-Whip to serve with her pie. No one turned up their nose or said a word. However Dad's cousin Ellen, with a twinkle in her eye, went to her picnic basket and pulled out a hand mixer and a jar of cream. She whipped up a big bowl of cream and added it to the dessert table. My generation scattered around the country so the reunion is no longer held but Thanksgiving reminds me of that side of the family, farm kitchens, and whipping cream. 

Today I am linking with Kat and other makers for Unraveled Wednesday. This week I completed the hand-quilting on my little Christmas nine-patch. Maybe later this weekend I'll cut the binding for the edges. I'll photograph it when it's finished. 

After some experimenting with patterns and yarn combinations, the Prairie Shawl is underway. In one of her novels, Willa Cather describes the prairie as shaggy and she is right. The fall landscape is one of dried mixed grasses, the bark of old cottonwoods and hackberry under a blue sky. The skein of gold superwash merino I originally thought I'd use was too bright and smooth. It didn't look like the prairie.  Another cake of lace weight was too delicate and too mustardy. I browsed a local yarn shop and (shock) couldn't find anything. Although I had this handspun polworth marked for another project, I wound up one small skein and gave it a try. Today's lighting isn't showing the fabric well but the tonal colors, the wooly feel of polworth, and the irregular handmade texture are perfect. When I finish the spinning, I will only have about 200 yards but I'll modify the pattern. Even though it is customary to spin all the yarn for a project before casting on, I tried this and love it. I best get spinning.  

Before I check on the dough for tomorrow's crescent rolls (it better be rising), I wish you a happy Thanksgiving filled with warm memories, good company, and a delicious dinner.