Traditions...

 When I think about traditions, I tend to imagine that they are relatively rigid. In fact, traditions are, by their very nature, flexible things. When I was growing up, my parents hosted Thanksgiving most years. The house would be filled with aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. The scents, sounds, flavors, and design were similar each year but never exactly the same. 

Chris and I moved to our first small house in Memphis and started hosting Thanksgiving each year for local family and friends as newlyweds. I carried many of my mom's traditions with me. From the weeks of cleaning and polishing, and readying the house to the types of dishes I prepared, her traditions became my own. She liked to have a vase full of yellow roses for the holiday. 

I like to scatter single roses all around the house in vintage bottles. 

She often served a platter of shrimp as an appetizer. We nod to her as we do the same. 

This year our tradition got a workout being flexible. I made only our favorite things, and in vastly smaller portions than usual, because instead of hosting 20 or so, it was just going to be four of us and the Owlet. Chris cooked the shrimp and made the spinach dip we always serve. I made mashed potatoes, stuffing, bread, rum cake, and pecan pie. We roasted a turkey. Well, half of a turkey. Last spring, I reserved a fresh turkey from my farmer friend. If you have never had fresh, pastured turkey, let me tell you, it is entirely delicious. All summer, the turkeys grew as they ate not only turkey food but blueberries and apples and other tasty treats. I saw them from time to time, and they looked healthy, happy, and large. The Monday before Thanksgiving, the farmer messaged me that the birds were being processed Tuesday. "How big are they?" I asked. "Big," she replied. In an unusual flash of brilliance, I asked to have mine split down the middle by the butcher. When the bird was delivered, I was mighty glad I'd had that thought. The turkey I'd ordered, thinking I would feed a crowd, was 36 pounds!  For four of us. Many laughs were had. We put one half in the freezer for another time. 

Yesterday I placed the 18-pound half-bird in my most giant roaster, and it hung over the edges a bit. I tucked it in with a layer of buttered cheesecloth and cooked it until it was fragrant and golden. We all agreed, it was the star of the feast. The most delicious turkey yet. 

When Evans joined the family, Rachel asked him what dish he would like to see at our table... something that was a traditional favorite from his family holiday. His answer was green bean casserole, and Rachel got the recipe from his grandmother. She now makes it on the years they come here for Thanksgiving. She made it yesterday, adding her husband's family tradition to ours in a delicious way. 

At the candle-lit table, holding the Owlet and chatting over the meal, I had to wonder how the heritage of celebration will be reflected in her life? I hope there will be roses and laughter, plenty and grace. And so much love.