As you read this, my prayers are that you are warm, cozy and amongst a loving family preparing for your Thanksgiving.
Growing up in this very home I was fortunate enough to be handed down, Thanksgiving was a comforting tradition of foods that never changed. There were the dishes themselves, gravy boats, cranberry dish, the chest with the silver service filled with unusual items not used on a normal day.
All of this excitement drew me to the kitchen, which steamed and hummed of creativity, and I watched intently as candied yams were basted, and deviled eggs were filled.
I watched and I learned to cook when it was a special occasion, my mama making caramel candy with pecans on top that she had shelled, a coconut cake for which she cracked the coconut, and shredded the meat inside.
This was a time for the hand-embroidered tablecloth and napkins by my grandmother who passed when I was 3, candles in silver and water in crystal but no alcohol. Just iced tea.
I don’t remember who all came for dinner — perhaps my uncles and their wives while my grandfather was alive — but my mama still did the same for us when it was just us, because it was tradition.
Nowadays, many folks travel. I started to, but decided to stay home and reawaken the same ole kitchen to something other than pot pies or pizza.
I have the menu down and I have the dressing recipe engraved in my heart. My daughter wrote it word for word on the back of an envelope and submitted it as her contribution to a cookbook: “Cup your hand and pour in some sage, add it to the cornbread, stir until it turns light green. If it’s not green, add more sage.”
Tradition ... my daughter has all the tablecloths, silver and things, but we will make do just fine.
Chester’s family is bringing all the love and those stories of his mama, IV Dunavent, who held his family together then and is remembered now.
For our family, we give thanks.
