And so we come to Thanksgiving. The American Holiday celebrated on the final Thursday of November, since President Abraham Lincoln declared it a national holiday in 1863. A time for people to gather together, to eat, to be thankful and express gratitude.

Of course, we are not the only nation to celebrate this holiday, most notably our neighbors to the north, and anyway a autumnal celebration of harvest seems like a natural outcome of being an agricultural society in northern climes.

We grew up on myths of the “First Thanksgiving” celebrated by my Puritan Separatist ancestors — anyone remember making  construction paper “pilgrim hats” and feathered headdresses — but of course the truth of that meal is a bit more complicated.

A bunch of ill prepared Englishmen arrive in a land which had been recently devastated by a massive plague brought on by earlier European traders, and after barely surviving their first winter, managed a pretty good harvest, having been taught how to survive by a native Wampanoag who had recently returned from slavery in England and found his village wiped out by plague.

The few scant accounts do suggest that some folk from the local surviving tribe showed up with deer to add to the meal of wild fowl, fish, and vegetables, having potentially been drawn in by the sounds of celebrating Englishmen firing their muskets in the air.

Over the course of time, it did not end well for those native peoples.

There are problems with the stories we tell ourselves about the origin of the holiday, but I really like Thanksgiving. For me, being able to cook for someone is one of the main ways I show that I care. Having a house full of family and friends allows me the opportunity to cook on a large scale, even if it can be a bit stressful in the days and hours leading up to that moment when everyone sits down.

The Holiday Season, as it has become known — from Thanksgiving to New Year’s — is both wonderful and terrible. So many expectations, so many opportunities for things to go wrong.

Neighbor Wade Graham writes about the time as a young man he lived with friends on a 40 acre homestead in the Ozark’s of Northwest Arkansas. As you do, when you are a young man living on a large piece of rural land, you get yourself a dog. In Wade’ case, a giant Irish Setter name Barabajakal, one of the greatest dog names of all time.

Arriving at his parents home, Barabajakal in tow, for Thanksgiving Dinner, Wade was chilling with his parents in the living room premeal, when from the kitchen "there arose such a clatter!"

Running in they saw that the pup had managed to get his paws up on the counter, and pull down the resting bird, roasting pan and all. Thanks to quick maneuvers and a Thanksgiving miracle, the pan landed right side up, and Barabajakal was denied his Thanksgiving meal of an entire turkey.

The following Christmas, Wade and his dog came home again, but this time, Barabajakal had learned his lesson — stealth! Wade’s mom had packaged up a box of five pounds of Christmas cookies to mail to his brother. Once again, the dog lifted himself up to the counter, and without alerting the family, devoured the entire box. Frigging dogs. And I am sure, upset belly and all, Barabajakal did not learn a darn thing.

Lisa Westkaemper shared her own story from a childhood Christmas. Fully in the holiday spirit, she and her sister decided they were going to roast chestnuts. As girls growing up in the south, they were not familiar with the nut, but they had heard the song, and they knew what they were supposed to do.

With their parents out, they dumped the chestnuts in a pan and tossed them in the oven. The song leaves out an extremely important part of the chestnut roasting process, the “x” you cut into the top of each one.

After the first explosion they turned off the oven and opened the oven door “but they continued to explode — little nut bombs shooting shrapnel in all directions. We threw a towel over the pan and dashed outside, with bursting nut bombs still shaking the pan.”

The sisters escaped unharmed, but the oven and most of the kitchen…. As a parent, I feel stress just thinking about coming home to this.

Lisa's friend also shared her own story, which likely hits home for any of us who like to experiment with new recipes around the holiday.

Coming across a recipe for apple cider snickerdoodles, she gathered her ingredients; snickerdoodles are delicious, cider is delicious, win-win. Reducing cider can be tricky, as I found in my own recent (thankfully successful) effort to make cider doughnuts. Distracted by a good book and an inaccurate estimate of boiling time in the recipe, she ended up with a sticky burnt mess, and later, plain old sickerdoodles with a glass of cider on the side.

My own story actually takes place after the holidays, but it is turkey related and holiday adjacent.

As I have written about, my family raised a lot of our own food, which often included a few turkey chicks. Like broiler hens, domestic turkeys tend to grow absurdly fast, and come January, there was one left, who had not been… harvested.

I was home for winter break from college, and my buddy Ben and I had been enlisted to hang drywall in the newly completed addition to the barn, which greatly expanded the rug shop, and the second floor of this addition is now my wife’s home office.

We were screwing in massive panels of dry wall next to the window overlooking the barnyard, and we see my dad trudging through the snow, ax in hand, approaching that final turkey, who had grown to an obscene size. Ben clearly had not witnessed this process as many times as I had, and he insisted we pause from our work and watch from the window.

Without getting into too much detail, the first ax blow did its job, but but my dad’s grip on the massive bird was lost, and he was knocked into the snow, sputtering and swearing impressively, as the turkey did what headless turkeys do, two late adolescent boys doubled over with laughter in the window above.

Of course we had to greet him in the kitchen, and in comes father covered in snow and — other stuff — and reaches into the spice cabinet, pulls out a pint of bourbon, leftover from the holiday chocolate bourbon balls, and takes an impressively long pull. Eying us, he simply says, “boys, every once in awhile, you just need a drink.”

A great lesson, of course not, but it seems to stick in my mind as a time when we were starting to be accepted as the adults we were becoming. Husbands and fathers who will get stressed, swear unnecessarily, and do our best to make this holiday thing happen.

A final story of holidays gone sideways comes from a favorite picture book, one we read to our children repeatedly at long ago bedtimes. The Thanksgiving Door, written and illustrated by Debby Atwell. It tells the story of an elderly couple, Ed and Ann, facing a burnt Thanksgiving Dinner, decide to see if the new restaraunt down he street is open.

The New World Cafe, run by a newly arrived immigrant family, is not actually open, but the grandmother had propped the door open with a potato, and Ed and Ann end up joining the family's first Thanksgiving in America.  "In old country Thanksgiving door is like an open heart, opened up big and wide. 'Potato is good for that,' Granmother said."

So it is time to take the turkeys out of the freezer and let the thawing process happen. The grocery list on my phone is steadily growing, and I am ready to hit Hannaford, and then try to find room in the cupboards and refrigerators for all the ingredients. One nice thing about a long guest list is you can delegate the parts of the meal you don’t want to deal with.

I will handle the birds, potatoes, stuffing and the gravy. Maybe mac and cheese. Oh and the cranberry sauce in the can, as I am married to someone who only wants that kind. I think I will attempt my grandmother’s fruitcake recipe for the first time.

My grandmother’s wedding china will be dug out of the barn loft, the living room will be cleaned out to the best of our ability to fit tables and at least 17 chairs. And come Thursday, we will gather, and we will be thankful. 

As the season closes, and winter arrives, I am thankful for this little town, for the characters that make up my daily experience here. Take care of each other, and be mindful discussing politics, though I suppose that is as much a tradition as jellied cranberry sauce. Save an extra place at the table. Reach out to me at ceobrien246@gmail.com.

Municipal Calendar

Monday, November 25

Selectboard 6 p.m., Town Office

Tuesday, November 26

Library open 3-6 p.m. 208 Main Street

AA Meeting 12:15 p.m., Community Building, 18 Searsmont Road

Wednesday, November 27

Library open 2-5 p.m.

Thursday, November 28

Thanksgiving Day, Town Office Closed

Friday, November 29

Thanksgiving Friday, Town Office Closed

AA Meeting 12:15 p.m., Community Building, 18 Searsmont Road

Library open 9-12, 208 Main Street

Saturday, November 30

Library open 9-12, 208 Main Street

Sunday, December 1

United Christian Church, 9:30 a.m. Worship, 18 Searsmont Road

Bayshore Baptist Church, 9:30 a.m. Sunday School, 11:00 worship, 2648 Atlantic Highway