I love Thanksgiving, along with the turkey and dressing and all the fixings that go along with it, and I think I know why. For me, that celebrated, deliciously abundant meal brings back precious memories of a simpler, more joyful time.
Every generation looks through rose-colored glasses when reflecting on the time period in which they grew up, but when I watch old home movies of our Thanksgiving dinners in the ’50s and ’60s, it really does seem that it was simpler: more relaxed; more unconditionally loving; more grateful; and a more civil period in our country’s history than it is today.
We didn’t know it then, but we were Baby Boomers, the children of the Greatest Generation who had fought a world war to preserve the freedoms of liberty. In return for their sacrifice, they wanted nothing more than a better life for themselves and their children.
When I watch those vintage home movies, I see images of my mother in the kitchen wearing her apron dusted in flour, juggling pots and pans, baking, broiling and boiling 10 things at one time. I see my smiling aunts, uncles and cousins, who had come from all around the country, hugging one another, laughing at corny jokes, and beaming with love for those around them – just glad to be there.
I see my frail, 84-year-old grandfather, whom I loved dearly, honored to be sitting at the head of our bountiful Thanksgiving table. Grandpa was an immigrant to this country, coming from England as an orphan in 1917.
He had run the canteen at the Slater mill, but was also a lay preacher, a writer of poems and a faith healer. I used to curl up next to him on the wide flat arm of his sofa chair. He would tell me stories of having grown up near Nottingham Forest, where Robin Hood robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. He told me stories of Jesus and the cross, of the Good Samaritan, and the Sermon on the Mount. I cried for days when he died.
These large-crowd communal Thanksgiving celebrations continued until my aunts and uncles, one by one, succumbed to the ravages of old age. By the time I was in my 40s, we were down to my parents, my sister Dorothy and her husband, my brother David and his wife and their two children, and me and my wife, Jane.
Because most of my mother’s Thanksgiving recipes were scaled for a crowd, she continued to cook huge dinners, which produced lots of leftovers. My father came up with the perfect solution. He would save the compartmented aluminum trays from TV dinners and fill them with turkey and dressing and the trimmings to freeze for later use.
My parents are gone now, but Jane knows how much a meal of turkey and dressing means to me. She still cooks a traditional Thanksgiving dinner every year, and freezes at least a half-dozen meals to thaw and heat throughout the year. With every bite, for one brief moment in time, those sweet memories come flooding back, filling me with comfort and joy.
Dennis Chastain is a Pickens County naturalist, historian and former tour guide. He has been writing feature articles for South Carolina Wildlife magazine and other outdoor publications since 1989.
