Before I start my little story...I read Julie's tails of Thanksgiving past and found myself thinking of this......It was 1963....many moons ago. We were living in Placerville, California with my parents since we were trying to save money for a place of our own. There was about 4 foot of snow in the flats and much deeper as you went up the hill. My Dad, my cousin and Arney decided that they would hunt and kill the Turkey...they looked like mountain men....not like we didn't have a market full of Birds. But off they went. On this same day the news came that President Kennedy had been shot and soon had passed away. My Mother's face was white as snow as we tried to take this in. I never felt so lost, and somehow knew that we would never be the same. Dad had shot his bird and we would be having Thanksgiving...
The Bird was large, and when they took the feathers off they found that the Bird had some kind of little mites. With company coming it was decided that the Bird would be skinned. Now at the age of 18 I had had some really good Turkey's, but this would not be one of them. It looked awful and was dry as a bone. No one said a word since Dad seemed to be so proud of his catch and cut it with the pride of the hunter with his game. So with a smile and a tear, this was the Thanksgiving we will always remember. That was Dad's one and only trip in the woods for Turkey. Happy Thanksgiving from our house to yours!
4 comments:
What a story,...such memories.
Mine of that day was living in Israel, pregnant with my first child, listening to a musical ensemble in the dining room of the kibbutz where I was then living. Someone came up behind our chairs and whispered in our ears that President Kennedy had been shot.
I wonder if that pushed the longing for Thanksgiving from my mind or made it all the more present and me the more homesick? I don't remember.
I sure do enjoy sharing stories with you!
Hi Mary,
When I wrote my post I forgot to mention the first memorable Thanksgiving of my life - the birth of my little brother Johnny when I was four years old. It was Nov. 22, 1953, Thanksgiving Day.
The day Kennedy was shot was Johnny's birthday. It was a bad day for all of us but especially for him.
As to that turkey story - sounds a lot like ours. I remember that the gravy was especially horrid!
Have a great turkey day. No one will be here to share our 19 pounder.
Love, Julie
Just catching up with you. I really like your new seating area and what a cute story about the guinea. As for the "wild" turkey...I never have been one for "hunting" so all my food must come from the grocery store.
Have a Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving.
Oh my gosh, mites. I'm afraid I would have eaten a tuna sandwich that day☺
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