Old School Thanksgiving

In 1950’s southern Indiana, Thanksgiving was a “no fault” holiday for kids.  At least for THIS kid. I would snooze away blissfully as my dad got up at the crack of dawn to go rabbit hunting with my sister’s husband, a long-standing tradition. My mother and sister liked the possibility of rabbit for future meals and even better, it kept the men out from under foot in the kitchen. Mom got to work early, too, putting the turkey in the oven and I’d awaken to delicious smells coming from the kitchen. 

We all lived in the same town, so the trip to Grandma’s house for my sister and nephews wasn’t exactly “over the river and through the woods.” More like a 10-minute drive across town. Once they arrived, my job was playing with the boys to keep them out of the kitchen—the only creatures less welcome than the men. This was not exactly tough duty for my teen-age self. We’d play board games inside or run around outside, weather permitting.

After the hunters had returned and dressed their kill in the backyard, it would be time to eat. We’d sit down around noon or so, to turkey, which never looked like the beautiful, browned one shown here, but tasted wonderful anyway, and was stuffed with oyster dressing, much to my disgust. I don’t remember much about the side dishes except my mom’s ever-present Jello salad, containing the required cranberries.  (Soon you will learn of my mother’s relationship with Jello. Let’s just say they were very close.) The grand finale was her delicious Pumpkin Pie, the vehicle for as much whipped cream as I could heap on it. Pure heaven!

After we had stuffed ourselves and the men had collapsed in front of the TV, my mom and sister would begin the clean-up. (Remember; this was PD—Pre-Dishwasher.)  I got out of it because Mom didn’t trust me with the good china. Fine by me! The kitchen would be all cleaned up by 3 or so.

Mom would sigh and say, “Why should it take only a half an hour to eat food that took HOURS to cook and another hour or two to clean up?”  Good question.