I have been fall decorating and planning and preparing things for Thanksgiving, which is only two weeks away. To be honest, it seems as if it was just a few weeks ago that I was doing the very same thing. I still ponder the idea of whether time really passes this fast for all of us or just because I am growing older.
I prepared the biggest pan of cornbread dressing I have ever made one day last week and put it in the freezer so that the flavors can “marry” for a few days before the special meal. And believe me, it takes quite a considerable size pan to hold all the dressing my family can eat. With having 10 big, burly broad-shouldered grandsons, the amount they can consume is remarkable. But, I love it.
I’ve been thinking about our Thanksgivings past and I always return to the memories of my grandmother’s house and table at this holiday. Their house sat back a far piece from the dirt road and the big red dirt incline that moved up toward her house that the big old school bus turned rolling store climbed every week. You could see the old farmhouse from the turn-in on the driveway. It sat there, always, as if waiting for travelers to stop and visit. And if you looked, you could even see the outhouse down the hill.
The aged clapboard house was completely bare of any one painted surface and was just the old wood-colored. There was a long front porch that ran the length of the front where several straight-back chairs and a few rockers sat. At the very end stood a tall wooden table that held an old white enameled water bucket and beside it lay the “community” dipper for all visitors to drink the cold, just-drawn deep well water.
If the weather was nice enough, my grandmother and granddaddy would be sitting here waiting for their visitors: My grandaddy in a straight-backed chair with the front legs reared back from the floor and leaning against the wall and my grandmother in her rocker. I always got a kiss on my head from her and a kiss on the hand from him.
As the other families came in, the ritual was repeated over and over.
There were seven siblings in my mother’s family and so many cousins that it always felt like a big party when we were all together. We were all close to the same age and it was like a really fun party. I grew up with all these “playmates” and remember them, and see the ones that are still here today, though not as often as I would like.
Her table was a long 7- or 8-foot rough-hewn wooden table fashioned by my grandaddy many years ago. It was not like my farm table today, sanded smooth and varnished with fashioned legs. This table was not really smooth and not shiny or level. She always kept an oil cloth covering the top. There were a few straight-backed chairs but mostly benches he had also made. And at the end opposite my grandaddy’s seat, he had made me a little box to sit on the bench so that I could reach my plate. I still have the little box.
There was always so much food that I am surprised the table didn’t collapse. She was an excellent “from scratch” cook and taught me so much about the way I prepare food today. And the noise! There were so many people gathered around and everybody talking at the same time. If you needed something passed, she always served her foods from the table, so you needed to talk really loud.
I do things somewhat different, but yet the same. We, if the weather permits, sit on our back porch waiting for our families. I kiss everybody and hug and hold on as if I haven't seen them in a long time. There is no community water bucket, no outhouse and no straight-backed chairs, but I imagine that time just the same.
We have 23 to enjoy the feast at our tables and it is also loud and busy and messy as the food gets served from my counter, not my table as she did. I cook as if I am cooking for a small army, and actually I feel as if I am. This is my army, my organized group of special people who will someday remember my table at the holidays and the food served and how I loved and hugged and kissed them. I am making a lifetime of memories, one of which will be remembered by these people forever just the way I remember and love.
Southern Sweet Potato Casserole:
5-6 baked sweet potatoes peeled and mashed (I bake mine instead of buying the ones in the can as you get all the syrupy goodness from baked)
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup of softened butter
1/2 cup of Pet milk
2 beaten eggs
1 T. cinnamon
1 t. vanilla flavoring
Mix all this well and pour into a greased casserole dish and top with the following:
1½ cups brown sugar
1 cup chopped pecans
1 cup flaked coconut
½ cup of soft butter
Mix well and place on top of potatoes Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes.
