The big meal is long over. Its completion was marked by the final ceremony of the day -- the ritual hurling of the turkey carcass into the damp November woods. As usual, I picked it over (well, but not too well) to provide the makings of sandwiches and BBQ over the next few days. We bolstered Tom Turkey with a ham this year, so the none-too-clean hambone also went out there to get rained on.
Late in the night I heard the howling and the scuffling as that second Thanksgiving meal began. Happy Thanksgiving, coyotes. Happy Thanksgiving, fat old 'coon, and please leave the cat food alone for today, all right? Happy Thanksgiving to you, bumbling possums. Please don't leave a mess on the porch.
Tomorrow I'll drag out big bags of cracked corn and grain to mound up in a special place between the base of three old oaks. Thanksgiving for the deer and squirrels.
When I was a kid, Thanksgiving meant not just one but two huge meals conducted about a mile apart with two sets of grandparents. In addition to my parents and grandparents, there were dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins. Sweet potato casserole and stuffing with or without onions and sausage. Cornbread and black beans at one house. Coconut cake for desert at the other. Card games and board games, drowsing in front of football games, and conversations that went from one room to the next.
These days the holiday is somewhat diminished. The grandparents are long gone, the remaining aunts, uncles and cousins scattered across the nation where they're surely having their own meals.This year it was just my wife, my son, and my mom. I love them all, and I'm grateful for the quiet holiday we shared, but I miss the noise. When the coyotes come to wrestle over the turkey at 2 AM, I'm not upset if they wake me. They're welcome.
So what was your Thanksgiving like?