Warning: if you are inclined towards being a vegetarian you might want to skip reading this blog. Of course, if you do, you’ll miss my grandmother’s classic Thanksgiving story.
As I was getting the turkey ready for Thanksgiving, I suddenly had a flashback to when I was a little girl. We spent most every Thanksgiving with my Grandparents Gall, as they lived just a few miles from us. We either went to their house or they came to ours. And nearly every Thanksgiving, since I was old enough to hear such a story, my grandma would tell of one particular Thanksgiving from her childhood.
My grandma grew up on a farm in Missouri. Well, now that I think of it, I’m not exactly sure it was a farm, but I do know that her family raised turkeys. As you’d expect back in the early 1900’s, these birds were not pets, but family food. (Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of someone having a pet turkey, but nothing is out of the realm of possiblity, I suppose.) The problem started, I think, when my grandmother named the turkeys. Thanksgiving rolled around and my great grandmother spent the day preparing the meal. I would venture to guess that a big Thanksgiving meal in those days, while probably much simpler than what we have, was still a major undertaking.
What came next probably sent my grandmother to her room for a week. With the bird fully dressed and sitting beautifully browned in the middle of the table, the family bowed their heads to give thanks for their meal. As soon as grace was over my grandmother breathed a huge sigh and said, “Well, we’re having Daisy for dinner tonight.” As my grandmother tells the story, no one ate that night.
My grandma died over 20 years ago but this story still cracks me up. As you may have guessed, I heard it more than a few times. I’d love to hear it again. So do me a favor this Thanksgiving; if you are fortunate enough to still have a grandma that tells you her favorite stories time and again, please listen and give your grandma a hug. Most of all, have a fabulous Thanksgiving. We have much for which to be thankful.
Oh my! I don’t think I would have eaten either! Of course, Daniel had a pet turkey. He lived past at least one thanksgiving!
This reminds me so much of my family growing up so thanks for sharing! It made me laugh. There were only a couple times I found out I was eating a pet – most of the time my dad was gracious enough NOT to bring our pets to the butcher but rather we sent them to the auction. (Yes, I know they really end up on someone else’s table then, but for the most part, that still made me feel better. :-)
Every year, our Turkey that we make at home is named Fred! :)
Erin