circles with no end...

Take a good look at a circle.

Can you tell where it started? Or where it's end is?

No, you can't. At least most of the time.

My view of families gathered for Holiday dinners are like circles.

We sit in a circle.

We pass the food in a circle.

"Always pass the food clockwise, honey." I'd remember my mother telling me as soon as I was old enough to handle the dishes.

Some in our family even talk in circles. I never did understand the endings to Uncle Kenneth's stories.

But the best circle story is actually the circle itself...

I have very fond memories of my grandparents farm. My mother grew up there. I spent many summers there with Grandpap and Grandmaw. It was a working farm; cows, chickens, sheep, horses and goats. I learned from them to wake early and get things done. Grandpa and I would concoct a mean chicken feed and make the rounds on the farm welcoming with each step the light of day. Grandma would rise, stoke the pot bellied stove and head to the kitchen.

When we finished our morning chores, we would start back towards the old house. Our noses would eagerly lead the way following the wonderful smell of fresh baked biscuits. We'd bring in the eggs we'd just gathered and Grandma would fry up a few for our hungry bellies.

The kitchen was large and open, the heart of the home. A big cast iron wood burning stove, sink with hand pump by the window. A huge expandable table that could hold the whole family held it's place by the door. The pie pantry held the goodies of the days bounty protected by it's doors and vented tin. The big butcher block table was well worn from years of cooking. That was Grandma's spot, between the pie pantry and butcher block, with her comfy chair nearby for rests.

I now have in my possession the butcher block and pie pantry. They are a couple of my favorite pieces of furniture. I can rub the block and almost feel the flour and hear the squeak of her wooden rolling pin.

One of my fondest memories is coming into the kitchen with grandmother making her famous mashed potatoes. She made the best mashed potatoes...ever.

No electric mixer to do the work. She mashed those suckers by hand with one of those zigzag kitchen mashing tools. Not only could she make delicious spuds, but all of her cooking was simple, yet amazing.

What holds me now even more in awe is that she cooked everything on a woodburning stove. Heavy iron handles lifted the grates off the cook top, she'd stuff a split log in, stoke the fire a bit and determine if the top or oven was now the correct temperature. Can you imagine?

Cakes, biscuits and pies all cooked precisely with no precision. No digital display. No push button technology to turn the oven on or off at intervals. No convection circulation for pastries to be cooked evenly. Just a log. And an iron. And Grandma.

Grandpa used to say that Grandma cooked the best 'fud'. That's what he called it...'fud'. When it was mealtime, Grandma used to open the door from the kitchen, stick her head out into the courtyard where the chickens were pecking bare spots on the ground and yell..."Harley!". It came out more elongated like "Haaaarrrrrllllllleyyyyyyyyy!" going up on the end like in a pig calling contest.

I'll never forget the sound. Or the way Grandma smelled of freshly baked bread.

It seemed to me a simpler life. Simpler times. Yet harder in many respects than the one I lead today.

We lost Grandma back in '77. Grandpa in '83. But every year at Thanksgiving my mind wanders back to the large meals that we would share in the kitchen down on the farm. The table heavily laden with food. As I think about it now, there was alot of preparation that would go into such a meal. No processed foods. No prepackaged ingredients. Everything was made by hand, from scratch. We ate the turkey that Grandpa raised, the potatoes that they grew, the cranberries that we picked.

It makes me appreciate the things that I have now. My digital convection oven with all it's bells and whistles. All of my Kitchen-Aid appliances. When I look at them, I think of the farm. And appreciate all that my Grandparents did.

Each year at dinner I thank both Grandma and Grandpa for my wonderful Holiday memories; Thanksgiving in particular. I give thanks for all of my loved ones that are no longer with us. Sadly, this year I've had to add my mother to the list.

Thanksgiving will have once again changed. Slightly.

My Grandmother taught her daughter, my mother, all of her cooking skills. She too, at least in my humble opinion, made the best mashed potatoes. An even better improved version of Grandma's. And then my mother in turn passed on that speciality to me.

My own daughter told me just the other night, "Can you make your wonderful mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Sure, honey. But don't you want sweet potatoes instead?"

"No, Mommy. Your mashed potatoes are the best....ever."

I had to stop for a moment, and catch my breath. It seemed as if I'd been here before.

But I was the ten year old looking up at my mother, not the mom.

At one time it had been my mother saying those same words to her mom when she was but ten.

The circle.

The family circle.

Do you know where it starts? And where it ends?

It's continuous...

and I'm Thankful for that.

:-)

I hope that everyone has a wonderful, Happy Thanksgiving! And that you too, have memories that you are thankful for...