The Thanksgiving Chicken Memory

chicken, hen, domineckerThanksgiving at Grandma’s house did not include turkey, or if it did, the turkey was quite small and looked like chicken.

Hello, Thursday Morning readers! Thanksgiving is one week from today. So, I’m feeling a little nostalgic. Just a couple of weeks ago, I stood at Aunt Edna’s grave side. My mind filled with memories as I glanced around at the nearest markers. Uncle Bud, Granny, Grandma…they’re all together now.

We had some wonderful memories at Grandma’s table, small as it was. The family showed up, all the aunts “totin'” a dish or two, as Grandma would say. We’d set the table and leave a stack of plates on the Hoosier cabinet for the kids to fill and take to the living room.

The star of Grandma’s dinner table was a chicken. Grandma raised chickens, so one was always handy.

Okay, I have a confession to make here: I never ate chicken at Grandma’s. Maybe I was a picky eater—I don’t remember—but that hunk of flesh in the center of the table had been out in the yard a few hours ago, scratching around. I couldn’t eat it.

I loved all the vegetables, though. Mashed potatoes and gravy, lima beans, crowder peas, skillet corn and cornbread dressing. But not the chicken, and certainly not the giblet gravy. I’d seen what went into the gravy. NO way!

This girl didn’t eat innards.

Next week, there will be a turkey on my Thanksgiving table. And, there will be giblet gravy, because my husband loves it. These days, I usually eat the turkey. I hope it had a good upbringing.

And I hope you have a wonderful holiday, whether you serve turkey or chicken, or a table-full of vegetables.

For each new morning with its light,

For rest and shelter of the night,

For health and food,

For love and friends,

For everything Thy goodness sends,

Father in heaven,

We thank thee.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson [Prayer of Thanks]

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