thanksgiving

Thanksgiving at the farm — all of it familiar, all of it seeped in tradition and memories and nostalgia.

It’s the annual repetition, it’s the retracing of the lines, that makes everything about this day so memorable and meaningful. The cranberry tart, the long table, the pumpkin games in the front yard, the bailey’s whipped cream.

This year 38 people sat down for lunch. This year my grandmother forgot to put her sweet potato soufflé in the oven. This year a glass broke and we made too much whipped cream.

It’s chaos and it’s sacred and it’s my favorite day of the year.