Pure Michigan Thanksgiving

The biggest travel weekend of the year is upon us as 1.3 million travelers hit the roads.  Auto travel is definitely a Michigan tradition from the first concrete paved stretch of road in the U.S., Woodward Avenue M-1 in 1909, to the spider’s web of well-traveled highways reaching every nook and cranny of Michigan today.

Wednesday November 23, 2011:     I and my fellow Michiganders are on the road. 

              Over Bear River and through the Emmet, Antrim, Otsego woods…

To Rochester Hillbillies house I go.

My car knows the way,

AND NO DEER WILL I SLAY,

And the road is not drifted with snow. J

At midnight I enter the embrace of Dutch-ancestry relatives with sharp horns and witty but not-too-sharp tongues.   The countdown to Turkey Day dinner has started.  The Moe is threading a large needle to truss the 26- pound turkey once it is stuffed in the morning.  The brother-family who sprung out of Harbor before me, have already deposited their dinner offerings of trifle and other delicacies in the fridge.

My contribution, sauce from Whitefish Point cranberries picked by a friend who wisely harvested cranberries BEFORE the ten-inch snowfall blanketed Paradise last week, is snug and cool in the trunk for the night.  Thanksgiving has become a springboard for Christmas so my other dish, spinach dip, makes for a nice green and red holiday offering.

Thursday morning:      The big day arrives.

The advantages of sleeping on a soft couch in the living room on T-Day are many.  From this nest I witness the day unfold.

I wake in early morning darkness to the sound of little sis scurrying down to her kitchen to truss the turkey and stuff it into the oven.  Luckily, as I achieve enough consciousness to think about offering to help, she flicks the lights off and heads back up to bed.  Shucks.  I’d better get some rest so I can offer to help with the dishes.

Strange stirrings from the dog crates rouse me and I drag myself up and out to give the host dogs some relief.  Standing on the lawn in my zebra outfit hoping the neighbors are not looking I spy another 21^st century Thanksgiving tradition: The carcass of a large lawn turkey deflated on the grass.  It’s a colorful sight but which is odder, Zebra woman or asphyxiated turkey carcass??? 

Give the dogs their early morning snack then back to couch for more shuteye.  I really should make coffee like a good guest.  Shucks again!  Before I can lift a hand, the Alpha Male host concocts a lovely brew and serves me a cup in my living room nest.  And a second cup!  I’m in heaven.  And conversation about Thanksgivings past and the new tradition of people who are not truly homeless but camp out starting on Wednesday to get door buster deals on Black Friday!! Crazy.  But we all have our traditions that we love.

This couch perch view of Thanksgiving unfolding is great.  One negative, the turkey is wafting luscious scents throughout the house and I’m hungry.  Can I stand this lovely scent for seven more hours??

The traditions to come: 

* Chestnut soup from Antrim Ridge Farm nuts harvested in October by the migrant siblings at Farm Party Weekend.

The Moe tends the Turkey

* Roasted beet salad with feta and those awesome candied sweet potatoes prepared by the vegetarian siblings in their nearby warren. 
* The hillbillies from Farmingtown are bringing the apple walnut salad that we have come to treasure.
* Pumpkin pie and pecan pie ala Moe are resting on the table already.
* Large quantities of potatoes and rutabaga are peeled and ready to simmer on the stove.
* Turkey

I’m reeeeaally getting hungry

O.K., it’s not just about food it’s also about more.  The parade is forming on Woodward, television celebrities-for-a day are perched above Detroit to incite home viewers.  The ultimate traditional anthem of the day, Alice’s Restaurant, is coming around again on the radio.  The newspaper is full of touching stories of love and family and an inch or three of advertising for our holiday shopping planning pleasure.  I’m anticipating a series of Thanksgiving parade walks around the hilly neighborhood with gangs of family.

Then, when all the people and food are here, we’ll pause to give thanks for all that we have.  We’ll pause to remember all those who have passed on but passed traditions down to us.  We’ll pause to be thankful for the love and nurturing that empowers us to create beautiful new traditions.

It must be the powerful smell of turkey that is making me sentimental. 

Gotta go.    Santa just arrived in Detroit and I have to hear his words of wisdom.

Happy Thanksgiving!