The Harvest Home Holiday

And, behold, didst they travel, each unto his or her own parental unit, called by that force of nature that each year on the Fourth Thursday of November by Proclamation Presidential and Turkey Pardoned.

Clogged were the roads, fulfilling that poem of olde, “A Child’s Thanksgiving”: “Over the hills / and through the woods / to grandmother’s house we go.” And, to finish it in 2008: “The Interstates, / oh so boring, / and I’m afraid of snow.”

Mom and Dad, now Grandma and Grandpa, as we have taken over their role with children of our own. Our sisters and brothers, all equally drawn to the homestead which we remember as being larger with younger neighbors.

What did happen to Jessie? Oh, she has Alzheimer’s; too bad. Where is Peg? Gone now; pity. How about the Monsignor? Retired a few years ago; some new fellow is there now. Little Richie? He’s flying DC-10’s. Junie? In Florida, last I heard; not sure if he’s still with us.

But we still have the turkey-plus, the pumpkin pie, all the things we used to do. Eventually, we will be the “top generation” and the family will flock to our house for the traditional stuff.

Every generation changes what it does, but Harvest Home remains.