I know exactly when Thanksgiving became my favorite holiday. As a child, I looked forward with great anticipation to the arrival of Santa Claus, until maturity disillusioned that fantasy. And for several unpleasant reasons, I’ve never been overly excited about my birthday. Easter was loads of fun as a kid, but too much work as an adult. I remember running to the twenty-four-hour Albertsons looking for last-minute basket stuffers to accommodate my child's expectations. I remember saying out loud to the other procrastinating parents in the aisle, “all for a silly rabbit.” They nodded in silent agreement as they tossed chocolate rabbits, Barbie dolls, and action figures into their shopping carts. The most bogus of holidays is Valentine’s Day. A day designed to sell greeting cards and candy and create expectations of ridiculously expensive dinners as a public display of affection, when real affection is displayed privately. The 4th is a blast, but a summer, outside party day with patriotic music and a light show. Lots of fun, Halloween was great fun as a kid, but living in rural America, I haven’t had a trick-or-treater in decades, so, boring.
But Thanksgiving, now that is a holiday I can sink my teeth into - literally. Just think -- a holiday completely devoted to food. Harvesting food, cooking food, playing with food, sharing food, and of course, consuming food. And there is a parade, to boot. And traditionally, the Detroit Lions, although the NFL and network ratings games have squashed that minor detail.
Although I remember many Thanksgivings, one sticks out in my mind because that is where my love of the holiday began to form. I was a teenager in junior high. My mom was preparing a big dinner to host many family members. I had helped with the pies earlier in the week, she had the turkey in the roaster, the house was clean. It was about lunchtime, but we never ate lunch on Thanksgiving because we had a late brunch during the parades and there were plenty of sliced oranges and walnuts to snack on until the early supper. So, I found myself with a little free time before the relatives would arrive.
It was one of those dreary, overcast, fall days in suburban Detroit. I put on some jeans and a sweater, grabbed my ski coat, hat, scarf, boots, and gloves, and proclaimed I was going for a walk. Mom told me to be back within the hour, and I left the smell of cinnamon and sage for the chill of a November afternoon.
I walked down our block, past friends' homes, smoke wafting from chimneys; I found the street strangely quiet. Everyone was either indoors, enjoying their family company, or over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house they had gone. I was alone on a street usually buzzing with kids.
Down the street and around the block was a couple of nicely wooded acres we unimaginably referred to as The Woods. It was someone’s undeveloped private property, but we kids followed trails and ran around in the well-treed urban forest full of birch, oak, and maple trees. The air was crisp and still. As I stepped off the sidewalk and onto the main path into The Woods, my steps crunched upon dried-up, fallen leaves. Squirrels chattered and crows cawed. I was taken by the peacefulness surrounding me.
The sky had been dreary for days, because that is Michigan in November. Overcast, gray, chilly but not yet unbearably cold. The last days of the year, dying dully. Solitarily, I crunched along, feeling a little too much teenage melancholy. I stopped to watch the wind rattle some barren branches, when out of the corner of my bespectacled eyes, I caught a fast movement on the ground. My head snapped around just as the critter froze. It was a rabbit. A little white bunny rabbit. We stared at each other in surprise for a long moment. Then I laughed out loud. “You’re about six months early,” I said. I shifted my weight causing a twig to snap. That noise was enough to reenergize the bunny and off it dashed into the underbrush. Did I really see what I thought I saw? Or was it a leftover Halloween apparition? I was suddenly tempted to follow it to see where it dashed off to when another bunny popped into my mind - a different white rabbit. “I’m not following you down that rabbit hole,” I called after the temptation. “See you in the spring!” I shouted. At that moment, the sun decided to make a striking appearance through the streaks of gray. Rays of sunshine streamed down into the quiet not so empty woods. I smiled, turned around, and headed back to home and hearth.
I couldn't wait to tell my kid sister where the Easter Bunny spent the winter. Better yet, I said to myself aloud, "I think she is ready to meet Alice."
I just love Thanksgiving.
Comments