Thanksgiving Belongs to Us

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.

There’s just something about that Thursday in late November that always warms my heart and memory like nothing else quite does.

It falls at the hinge point of the year - after the pristine beauty of autumn, but before winter descends - cradled in that gentle in-between where time slows and reflection feels natural.

And that’s saying a lot coming from me, because Thanksgiving in our family and community probably looks very different than most.

For months leading up to it, we’ve all been working around the clock preparing for our annual community festival, which begins the very next day.

After Thanksgiving dinner, we walk the grounds. Tents and pavilions glowing beneath a starlit sky. Tables filled with handmade crafts people spent all year creating. Friends preparing gourmet food from every corner of the world in kitchens scattered throughout the fairgrounds. The Heritage Center stage mostly empty, save for a couple musicians practicing last-minute.

Everyone’s ready for the 10-20,000 folks that will show up the next two days. It’s impossible to do the event justice through any description. It’s an experience. We love sharing our life with the world.

I know some of you will be there, and I can’t wait to see you.

—

Growing up, my cousins would always travel down from DFW, and my grandparents would come over from their farm a few minutes down the road. We’d gather around our massive wood table, my dad would bless the food, and then we’d indulge: roasted turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, all kinds of salads, and at least three types of cranberries (candied, with cream, and jelly-style). And to drink, Martinelli’s sparkling apple juice - a huge treat for us kids.

After dinner, my grandpa Byron would gather us boys in our bedroom and tell a story - a tale that stretched year to year, always unfolding, always unfinished. I don’t remember all the details. Only the feeling. His calm, deliberate voice. The pauses between words widening. Sentences softening… and then silence.

“Papa, wake up!” one of us would chide.

And the story would continue, just a little longer.

Eventually the turkey would do its job and we’d all drift off. Later, we’d wake to pecan, apple, and pumpkin pies made by my grandmother, mom, and sister.

—

In later years, we moved to Idaho, and Thanksgiving took on a different rhythm. Cold and rainy. I loved that weather. The house was glowing and warm, a hot fire crackling in the soapstone wood stove on the old brick hearth. My older brothers married one by one and started families. Our table kept stretching longer and longer.

After dinner, I’d bundle up and wander into the forest behind the house. I didn’t really intend to shoot any deer - I just loved being out there in the chilled fog, where all was hushed except for the graceful movement of a deer nervously foraging, or a hawk taking flight from a tall Pine tree. As the last light was dying, I’d mosey back home where dessert and dominoes awaited.

—

When I married Helen and moved back to Texas, I learned Thanksgiving dinner could somehow get even bigger. Her mom is one of ten, and the extended family includes over sixty cousins!

Everyone piles into her uncle’s home. All the rooms fill up - fifty conversations all at once. The smell of three types of turkey (smoked, roasted, and fried) making all our mouths water.

Then there was the year I spent Thanksgiving flat in a hospital bed with a broken pelvis after falling during the construction of Live Oak Lake. A thirty pound weight chained to my leg, muscles in traction, while I waited for surgery. But a faithful stream of friends and family kept me company all day.

The traditions, the tables, the memories - I love all of them deeply. Maybe what I love the most about Thanksgiving is that it still belongs to us - families and friends. Not brands (there aren’t even many “Thanksgiving songs,” though I do love this one).

Ultimately, it’s about giving thanks. What a gift to be able to give thanks. I don’t do it enough, but just writing this out can help me change that.

I’m thankful for the best relationships in the world, a life of meaning, and for each of you reading. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! (even the non-Americans not celebrating :)