Can anything quite compare to the memories of small-town South Georgia Thanksgivings?
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Thanksgivings were homecoming events. Family members, like refugees from some vast diaspora, came home again for the annual tradition. Like a pilgrimage to Mecca we came, not that our home town of Colquitt, Georgia is a Mecca, but it has been called the intellectual center of Georgia…everyone smart left.
But we returned to enjoy a few days of family reunion. It’s rumored that all residents of small towns are related. Maybe some truth to it. Once we had a family reunion and the entire town showed up. The familiar atavistic resemblances are hard to dismiss.
In those days all roads led to our grandparent’s table. They began the tradition because they had the longest table and my grandmother loved to cook. Grandmother Jewel pulled out the fine china, the freshly polished silverware and crystal water glasses. It was a feast.
Baptist deacons have God’s ear, it’s said, so Grandfather Pop’s place was at the head of the table. He blessed the meal, blessed it again, and blessed everything and everybody but the cranberry sauce. Relief was palpable at his conclusion.
There’s a fondness in remembering the ‘old days’ of Thanksgivings. Sadly, to go back is impossible. The old family table has disappeared. It’s only there in memory now. Even if it were possible to go back, too many chairs would sit empty. The meal wouldn’t be the same.
Recently I pulled out old family photos from the album archives. By today’s standards they’d qualify for a Southern Gothic Museum or Ripley’s Believe it or Not. The years 1986 and 1988 seem light years away. Weird hairdos, strange clothes now sold on eBay at vintage prices and even stranger teenagers. Enough to embarrass even the toughest sensibilities.
Teenagers hated family photos. Maybe they even hated us. They invented the ‘I’m bored’ look, wishing they were anywhere but here. Often, we did, too. Which gives credence why some species eat their young.
Mostly smiles dominate the photos. The secret to a good family photo is to make it before they start drinking and eating. But no family can survive with sanity more than a couple of days of togetherness. Things fall apart quickly after the turkey and dressing disappear and the last of the caramel cake is consumed. Saturday football games continue to save many a family free-for-all.
Some of our clan liked to hunt. They’d get up at O’dark thirty, load weapons best suited for elephants and attempt to ambush the elusive whitetail. They never succeeded. Yet the memories remain. After lunch, Grandfather Pop would sneak out to the farm and count his cows. He always seemed relieved when he returned.
I usually enjoyed a morning run to work up an appropriate appetite. Once on a country road I heard the shotgun blast and a load of birdshot whizzed by inches from my face.
“Thought you was a turkey,” the old farmer hollered from behind the bushes, waving an empty bottle like a baton. I didn’t stop to discuss. I had no weapon. I ran through the cemetery after that. Safer.
We tend to think things will go on forever as they are. They won’t, of course. Had we taken this to heart we might have embraced family reunions more fervently. But we didn’t. The tyranny of the urgent always got in the way…schools, jobs, bills to pay, details of life.
Our old photos revealed only three empty chairs at the metaphorical table. Today there would be maybe a dozen. I haven’t counted. The old clan is dwindling, but a new one is emerging. A family photo today would reveal different faces beneath gray hair. Teenagers of the past would be holding babies. There would be no empty chairs at the table. The tradition would have survived.
Thanksgiving is more than a meal and time for family reunions. It’s an idea, a spirit. It should remind us of our nation’s abundance, our own bounty and freedom. Yes, the old days are past, but the memories of our collective empty chairs continue to keep the tradition alive.
And this year, 2023, I’m pretty sure the turkey and its entourage will continue to show up and add their part to our festivities.
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May our Beneficent God forgive us of all our follies and yet again lavish our homes and family reunions with the abundance of His Grace this Thanksgiving Day.
Bud Hearn
November 21, 2023