How a Solitary Thanksgiving Turned Out Not to Be
By: Maggie Fry
Tags: Aging, Thanksgiving, Sustainability, Self Sufficiency, Ancestors

photo by Maggie Fry

I decided to treat Thursday, November 26, 2020, just like any other day since last March. I would work online and make a simple dinner. No muss, no fuss. No Thanksgiving this year. Intellectually, I understood that today would be a difficult day, but emotionally I was having trouble processing it. I had spent Thanksgiving away from my family in the past, but I had never spent one entirely alone.

A few days later, I noticed frozen turkey breasts on sale as I did my weekly masked up, socially distant grocery shopping. I tossed one into the cart. I like turkey. It wouldn’t go to waste. I wasn’t planning to bother with the traditional sides. Maybe I would make rice pilaf.

The next week, my two daughters and their cousins planned a Zoom family gathering for Thanksgiving Day. The family is scattered over several time-zones, with my daughter, Linnea, in Norway, and my niece, Claire, in Minnesota, and the rest of us between Cleveland and. Pittsburgh, but we agreed on a time and I began to look forward to it. I set a reminder on my phone to shift the turkey breast from the freezer to the fridge on Monday.

I decided that I wasn’t going to bother with my traditional Thanksgiving sides of stuffing, mashed potatoes, and Brussel sprouts with bacon, but pumpkin pie was a necessity. My Pandemic Victory Garden had produced a bumper crop of pumpkins, so I wouldn’t even have to buy a can. I split a pumpkin in half and baked it, then scooped out the bright, yellow flesh, pureed it in the blender, and stored it in the fridge next to the turkey breast.

On Wednesday I pulled the puree out and baked the pie. I also baked some bread because I decided that I really did want “stuffing,” even if I couldn’t cook it inside the bird. I shared pictures of the pie on our family WhatsApp chat and with Rich, the man I started dating a month ago. He sent me a photo of his pie, sweet potato. Yum!

On the day itself, I got up and went through my normal routine of letting the dog out, feeding the cats, making coffee, and texting Rich “Good morning.” The pumpkin pie was calling to me from the refrigerator. My longstanding practice has been to have a piece of pumpkin pie for breakfast the day after Thanksgiving, but this year there was no reason why I shouldn’t have one before dinner. Who was there to object? I whipped up some cream and sat down with my pie to get to work.

When I took a break to feed the chickens, I went through the garden to see if perhaps the deer had left me a stalk of Brussel sprouts and, what do you know, they had. I had diced bacon in the freezer, so there was another traditional dish on the menu.

I heat and cook with wood, and that’s different from just turning on the stove. You have to give it time to get up to temperature, so I lit the stove a bit before noon. As I fed wood into the firebox and waited for the oven to heat, I texted back and forth with Rich who was preparing dinner for his family. We swapped photos and gave each other progress reports throughout the day. It wasn’t the same as cooking with someone, but it was nice.

The family Zoom call started. In years past, we have all gathered at my sister’s house in Ohio, but not this year. Our 81-year-old mother is living with her and it is just too dangerous for her. So the children and grandchildren — and a great-grandchild whom I have not met yet — all gathered to wish Mom and each other happy Thanksgiving. While we all chatted, my sister and I worked on dinner, and I spent so much of the call with my back to the camera that my younger daughter Emily dubbed my corner the Ass Cam. There was laughter and teasing, just like there is when we are together. It felt good. It felt familiar.

The smell of roasting turkey with onions and sage filled the kitchen. The cats and dog knew something special was coming. I got the turkey breast out of the oven — sent a picture to Rich — and wrapped it in foil to rest while I made the mashed potatoes, gravy, and Brussel sprouts. After the sides were under control, I was too hot in the kitchen and decided to open the door. As I stepped through the doorway, I noticed the purple and orange Halloween lights that I hadn’t taken down yet and decided to light them. Even if it wasn’t a normal holiday, I felt I should do something to acknowledge the day. I plugged in the lights and smiled at the cheerful glow. That was when I realized that I was not alone.

The air grew heavy and I sensed that I was surrounded by my Ancestors, the people who had lived here before me and others: my grandparents and great grandparents, great aunts and cousins, my father. There they were, waiting for an invitation. I turned and said, “Welcome! Come in and share my Thanksgiving meal.”

I returned to the kitchen and got out another plate. I had been planning to work while I ate, but now that would be rude. I lit the candles and fixed the two plates, then I sat down to eat. I remembered Thanksgiving holidays past when these people were at the table in life.

The tune of the song my grandfather used to sing every Thanksgiving flowed through my head. I couldn’t recall all of the words but I remembered that, year after year, he would sing this song the moment he came through our door. He didn’t stop to take off his coat and hat or set down the date and nut cake that he was carrying. He simply burst into song.

I remembered the stories about my great grandmother’s legendary ability to feed a dozen people on one canned chicken by adding side dishes. If an unexpected person showed up, she set another place and got out another jar of apple sauce or pickled beets. No one was ever turned away and no one left the table hungry.

Lost in memory, I didn’t notice my little black cat, Cleo, climb up and snitch some turkey from the Ancestor plate. I heard my grandmother exclaim in disgust, “I can’t stand cats.” Someone else asked why there was no alcohol. I promised to give them a tot when I left the plate outside. My grandfather reminded me not to forget the pie. I told him I would put the whip on the side because I know he never liked it. He always referred to it as “soap suds.”

The Ancestor plate is something I often do at Halloween, but I didn’t this year. I usually make up a plate of favorite dishes of relatives who have passed on. Meatloaf is popular and I often include fudge made from my grandmother’s recipe. I realized it was a mistake to break with that tradition, even in this unusual year. After I finished eating, I poured a bit of Jameson’s Irish whiskey into a shot glass and took it and the second plate outside. I set them under the grape arbor and thanked the Ancestors for coming to dinner, then returned to the house.

It didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt full of the joy of Thanksgivings past and the hope of Thanksgivings to come. Thanks to family, a special friend, and a visit from the Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past, the lonely day I had been dreading was transformed. I sincerely hope that my family can gather together in person next year, but in any case, the Ancestors will be there, too.