Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day. Oh, the memories.

Many was the Thanksgiving day at our house on Myrtle Island when we had family, friends, an occasional orphan who wandered in from who knows where, but who were all ready to fix a plate, find a spot to sit, eat, and be thankful.

We’d have a turkey, an icy, slippery, frozen, solid blob of poultry brought home from the supermarket, jammed into the refrigerator to spend a week languishing while defrosting.

Hallelujah, after hours of baking and basting in the oven, we had a golden offering, the emblem of Thanksgiving. Surrounded by the green of parsley and the orange of kumquats, ye olde bird lay on the ironstone platter brought out from the depths of the kitchen cupboard where it had reposed since the year before.

And always, the Thanksgiving Day turkey had pride of place on the dining room table. Carving knife sharpened, ready and waiting, we successfully corralled a member of the tribe to slice and dice, separate white meat from dark, and do all of the above with culinary aplomb. The aroma seeping out into the backyard sent the feline population in the neighborhood into raptures.

We’d have gravy, with or without giblets. There would be cornbread dressing and dressing made with white bread, my favorite. Pecan pie and sweet potato pie. Pumpkin pie was considered to be best served north of the Mason-Dixon line.

Naturally, there were two kinds of cranberry sauce, jellied and whole berry. And veggies. And rolls warm from the oven. A vulgar abundance of food.
Always an argument as to when to eat. Noon is good, one o’clock is better. Whenever.

Trying to gather up the thundering herd on the outside deck was like corralling cats, but we finally managed, held hands, and before the blessing was asked, one by one, we could offer up what we were thankful for. A special moment.

Best time of the day is after everyone has eaten, food put away, garbage sacks tied and ready for the dump. Football games on the TV. Older bodies reclining on sofas, indulging in a nap. Children hyped on all the sugar made use of the tree swing in the yard.

And all too soon it was time to raid the fridge, manufacture that Thanksgiving Day sandwich, white bread with glops of cranberry sauce on sliced turkey. Delicious, nutritious.

So, who started this once-a-year thanking business anyway?

According to diligent research, I discovered that a slew of very important people are credited with declaring a national day of Thanksgiving, from Madison to Lincoln to Roosevelt. Jefferson felt it was an intrusion on the concept of division of religion and government. Refused to have anything to do with it.

Through the years, we celebrated variations of Thanksgiving Day.
As Army dependents living in Hawaii with head of the house in Vietnam, there was the time the children and I went to the mess hall at Schofield Barracks to join the troops for Thanksgiving dinner.

The Mess Sargent tried. Truly. Soft music, tables decorated with tablecloths and artificial leaves in fall colors, candles. Food was delicious. Somebody else to clean the kitchen. Somehow, not being able to raid the refrigerator later for leftovers was terribly depressing. Jim and Nick’s have a turkey dinner plate basted with barbecue sauce. It’s definitely tasty. Can you say “succulent”?

But, in my humble opinion, there is no way you can have turkey without cranberry sauce and one Thanksgiving Day when we were stationed at Kelly Barracks in Germany, I reached for a can of it in the pantry. Nope, not there. I panicked. Military commissaries were closed. They observed national holidays. German stores closed for lunch. I jumped into the car and rushed to the nearest grocery store, fingers crossed that A, they were still open, and B, they had something, anything vaguely resembling cranberry sauce. They were and they did. Preiselbeeren. Saved.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.