We in America have an established holiday dedicated to giving thanks to whomever or whatever we recognize as the power or force that has overseen our survival over the past year. Naturally we call it Thanksgiving. Our ancestors established the practice following the harvest of the growing season and it has remained a major event. The exact date of the holiday was confusing until Congress passed House Joint Resolution (H.J. 41) on October 6, 1941. That resolution set the last Thursday in November as the official National Holiday to celebrate in the USA and in its protectorates. However, recognition that we need to be thankful for what we have has been the focus of every president. George Washington called for a National Day of Thanksgiving and prayer on November 28, 1789, and every president since has made a proclamation about the meaning of the holiday. 

The turkey has become the symbol of the holiday and the explanations for that are varied and many. One of the earliest references to the turkey being the featured meat source derives from the writings of Sarah Joseph Hale, who wrote many stories of the celebration dinners shared by the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag people in 1621. Because of her writings, she has been dubbed “Godmother of Thanksgiving.” It’s unknown if the turkey population puts out an alert that each of them is in danger of being chosen as the star of several hundred thousand chefs, butchers, cooks, and homemakers beginning each October. Not concerning the effects of Covid, an average of 1.4 million whole bird turkeys are consumed in the USA on that one day. That doesn’t include all the frozen “TV” dinners that are offered for sale for as well. Butter Ball turkeys account for approximately one-third of those birds.

All of us have our own memories of how we celebrated or didn’t on Thanksgiving. I came from a typical blue-collar family with just my dad as our provider. I can happily remember a full dinner plate on that date, without fail, since Mom was a very resourceful cook. And, in line with tradition, turkey was the item that got the most attention. All the trimmings were a given including fresh pumpkin and mincemeat pie. In the later years of my youth, ice cream was added to the after-event pleasures.

I remember my parents having some discussions over how the cooking of the turkey should be done leading up to the hour that the bird was placed In the oven. Mom always chose a 21–22 pounder and by the mid-1950s, Dad had purchased an electric roaster oven for over sixty dollars! Big money in those days. But when the big bird arrived it had to be prepped and kept in the fridge for a day before the many hours of cooking and basting was begun. A lot of talk was heard about what made the best-tasting turkey and for several years, Mom and Dad sparred as to how she should roast the bird, particularly with in what kind of wine Mom should baste the turkey—Port, Muscatel, Mogen David or some other type. Dad had helped cooking with railroads as a very young teenager in the 1930s and used that experience as his base of knowledge of cooking. Mom usually relented and went with Dad’s choice to see what gave the best taste. That only lasted for a few years and then mom followed her own methods.

She would get up at about 2am and put a butter rub on the turkey, do the stuffing, place it in the roaster. It was so large that she had to take the inner liner out, Insert the rack, and then put the liner as the lid. Then it was just set and monitor the temperature and baste, baste, baste, for hours. Once it was done, gravy, and lots of it, had to be made. I got the job of stirring the gravy. It seemed like forever and was closely supervised by my eagle-eyed mother who made sure there was not one lump in the gravy. Her method must have been correct because I find I still make the gravy the same way seventy years later.

The enjoyment of the meal was always primo. I can’t remember anyone that wasn’t a success. We did the typical “thanks” before we began, but the ceremonial carving was never a feature at our house. Mom did all of that in the kitchen and brought it to the dining room table. As I reached high school age and after, the house would be filled with married family members and their kids crammed into the house with shoehorns. You had to walk around kids playing on the floor all over the place and we adults played many board games and enjoyed Thanksgiving Day from Noon until about 2am on Friday. The lawfully aged ones enjoyed a sip of wine or a PBR while we underaged swigged Pepsi, TAB, or Dad’s Root Beer.

Those days are the source of many happy memories. I hope you have as many as I have had. Happy Thanksgiving!