The Approaching Feast

Originally published in The Laconia Daily Sun ›

There are still pumpkins around and bouquets of fall mums. Glorious in the gentle colors of autumn. The ghosts have disappeared. They disappear at the stroke of midnight on St. Hallows Eve. Staying out of sight until Halloween next year.

How Halloween became such an international extravaganza is still somewhat of a mystery to me.  And, why Thanksgiving, one of the holidays all Americans can celebrate together, seems to be just tucked in between Halloween and Christmas.  The morning after the ghosts disappear as sif by magic red outfitted Santa’s begin appearing next to lighted trees, stacks of wrapped packages and lots of tinsel and holly.

Thanksgiving is an old-fashioned holiday.  Hart’s Turkey Farm Restaurant has been owned by the same family since 1954 and the menu for Thanksgiving remains the same.  This year they expect to serve 1,500 dinners. Technology, generational differences, even a shift in food preferences hasn’t made a difference or changed their menu in 1882 Louise M. Alcott wrote a story entitled: “An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.”  It begins:

SIXTY years ago, up among the New Hampshire hills, lived Farmer Bassett, with a house full of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about him. They were poor in money, but rich in land and love, for the wide acres of wood, corn, and pastureland fed, warmed, and clothed the flock, while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the old farmhouse a very happy home.

November had come; the crops were in, and barn, buttery, and bin were overflowing with the harvest that rewarded the summer’s hard work. The big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in the great fire-place roared a cheerful fire; on the walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and corn; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked squashes, juicy hams, and dried venison–for in those days deer still haunted the deep forests, and hunters flourished. Savory smells were in the air; on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down among the red embers copper saucepans simmered, all suggestive of some approaching feast.

Several years ago, when a friend from London was visiting, his first traditional New England Thanksgiving, we discovered and edited Ms. Alcott’s charming story. We read the story between courses as we were enjoying the grand feast.  It was great fun. Recently I found copies of our edited text and thought I would suggest a reading at this year’s Thanksgiving dinner.

Two years ago, we made paper turkeys copied from a pattern I included with my Thanksgiving column in the Laconia Daily Sun.  I have disassembled one and thought I would copy the simple pattern for table decorations.  This year using bright colored paper.

Thanksgiving is a time of reflection.  There are no costumes.  No bags of sweet chocolates.  No extravagant presents.  No large trees covered with twinkling lights and treasured ornaments.  Thanksgiving is a time to think about what it means to be an American.    To forgive. To be thankful.