Posts Tagged ‘Thanksgiving dinners’




Memories of our old farmhouse,

Upon a wooded hill,

And Thanksgiving dinners there,

Linger with me still.

Our family numbered nine back then

But our table seated more,

For we made room for extra guests . . .

Ours was an open door.


Around our huge oak table,

We each pulled up a chair.

Then Mama said the blessing

As we bowed heads in prayer.

Our table wasn’t fancy,

For nothing ever matched . . .

Odds and ends of tableware

And a cloth that was patched.


We drank from pretty jelly jars,

Each different in design.

We didn’t need fine crystal;

We liked our jars just fine.

When we were short of dishes,

We’d use some old cake tins.

We called them plates with sideboards

They always brought on grins.


Our garden supplied our table.

Mom’s canning gave us more.

And we were rich in happiness

With wonderful rapport.

Aromas in the old farm house

Foretold great things to eat,

For everything that Mama served

Was welcomed as a treat


There were platters of baked chicken,

Roasted to a turn,

And warm slabs of home baked bread,

With butter I helped churn;

There were mounds of mashed potatoes,

Green-beans, corn, and peas;

Dressing baked with chicken bits;

And cranberries cooked to please.


Brown gravy made from giblets,

Golden candied yams,

Pumpkin, peach, and apple pies,

And homemade harvest jams;

Big cups of steaming coffee

And milk from our own cow;

Tasty home-bottled root beer . . .

I wish I had some now.


After dinner was over,

Dad played his violin.

My brother played his old guitar.

A guest played mandolin.

Then other members of Dad’s band,

With their families in tow,

Dropped by for pie and coffee . . .

And to practice for their show.


That old house rang with laughter,

And music filled the air.

The women discussed recipes,

And kids ran everywhere.

But the best part of Thanksgiving

Was the way that we all cared,

And the love that filled our old house . . .

The best thing that we shared.


11/16/88 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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