November 21, 2007

• This time of year brings to mind childhood Thanksgivings at my grandmother Poppy's house in deepest Mississippi.
  My
  mother's mother lived in a big white 1850’s house, surrounded by
  magnolias and giant oaks. Her dining room had 14-foot ceilings and
  heavy, dark antique furniture, including a banquet-sized table that has
  seen as many as 16 of my kinfolks seated around it. All of us spent
  many happy hours around that big old table.
  At Thanksgiving, there
  was always a crowd of aunts, uncles and cousins. Poppy's table was
  covered with a starched white linen tablecloth. A gracious Southern
  hostess, she always had a centerpiece of fall leaves and berries, and
  set the table with her good china and heavy sterling silver and crisp
  linen napkins. We kids were fascinated by the tiny cut-glass salt
  cellars scattered around the table, each with its own miniature silver
  spoon.
  We'd serve our plates off the long buffet — turkey, cornbread
  dressing, fried corn, butter beans, cranberry sauce and the silver
  gravy boat filled to the brim with gravy with little lumps of giblets
  floating in it. After we all sat down, Mary Joiner, Poppy's
  dearly-loved cook and housekeeper, passed her delicious homemade rolls,
  and we helped ourselves to real butter from the silver butter dish.
  With
  lots of children, and kinfolks who hadn’t gotten together for a while,
  the conversation was always lively but decorous, as Poppy and our
  mothers made sure all of our topics were appropriate for the table.
  As
  a child, I was always disappointed in the dessert. Poppy would ask,
  "Who wants some cake?" and my sisters and cousins and I would eagerly
  say, "We do!" with mental pictures of birthday-style cake with thick,
  gooey icing. We’d be bitterly disappointed when we were served a small
  glass plate with a piece of dry, crumbly FRUITCAKE with NUTS (which all
  of us hated as children) and cut-up slivers of nasty green and red
  gooey fruit stuff. Yuck! And not only fruitcake, but a crystal compote
  of something the ladies in our family all adored and worked hard to
  create for holiday meals: "ambrosia," made of orange sections and
  freshly grated coconut and whipped cream. Coconut! Just as bad as
  pecans — maybe worse. Oh, and there'd also be pie — PECAN pie!
  One
  Thanksgiving my grandmother had figured out that all of us children
  hated fruitcake and ambrosia and pecan pie, so she also served
  something she thought we'd adore — green Jello all smushed together
  with real whipped cream until it was a pale-green mixture with little
  flecks of darker green floating in it. Although it looked nauseating,
  it tasted great to us. It became quite a tradition, and Poppy happily
  served it for years with much love to her nut-hating grandchildren.
  To
  tell you the truth, as a child, I never did understand why all the
  grown-ups got so excited about Thanksgiving food. Giblet gravy and
  fruitcake and pecan pie — horrible!
  My favorite part of Thanksgiving
  dinner at my grandmother's was not the food, but getting to sit next to
  my older, mischievous cousin Beau, who would quietly deliver scandalous
  imitations of various relatives to me and get me so tickled that I was
  in danger of choking on the black olives from the relish tray.
  Thanksgiving
  was fun because we got together with our family — grandparents, aunts,
  uncles, cousins of all ages — the more, the merrier. And Poppy didn't
  want us to forget what the day was all about, so she'd go around the
  table and make each one of us tell something we were thankful for.
  Over
  the years, Thanksgivings have changed. Poppy is gone and the family
  home sold. Her huge antique dining room table is in sections in our
  Harrison attic, waiting for a dining room big enough to do it justice
  again. My parents are both gone, and my brother and sisters and cousins
  are spread throughout the South. My older son, who moved to Boulder
  this summer, will be spending Thanksgiving Day working, so he won't be
  able to be with us.
  This year, our little family has been invited to
  join some dear old friends and their family for Thanksgiving dinner at
  their farmhouse. The food will be good. The stories will be good, and
  so will the company. We'll think about what we're thankful for. Happy
  families. Kinfolks and friends who love us. Good health. Our new life
  and friends in the Ozarks. The list goes on. And we'll think about
  Thanksgivings past, and the loved ones who are no longer with us, and
  be grateful for all the good gifts our loving Father has blessed us
  with.
  In memory of Poppy, I might even eat a slice of fruitcake this year. I know I'll eat a piece of delicious pecan pie.
  Y'all have a happy Thanksgiving. God bless us, every one.

  By Celia DeWoody
  Published 11.22.07, Harrison Daily Times
  Copyright Harrison Daily Times, Inc.
  
  
  

  • 10:41 pm
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