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THANKSGIVING ON THE FARM
I remember our Thanksgivings on the farm. When I was growing up, we lived on a farm near the town. There were many other relatives who lived near us. Every year they would all come, from other farms and from the town, to be with us.
We'd work for days to prepare for the holiday. Mother and the girls would clean every part of the house, and they'd get all the extra rooms ready for the relatives. Then they'd wash all our best clothes—we called these dresses and suits our “Sunday best.” The men would cut extra wood for all the cooking, for we had an old wood-burning stove. Father would always kill the biggest turkey, and then he'd clean the bird. Finally, the whole 1arm\y would drive into town to buy the food that we couldn't produce on the farm, like coffee and sugar.
On Thanksgiving morning the women would get up early to begin cooking. Mother would stuff the turkey with bread and onions, and then she'd roast it. Aunt Ellen would make a dozen pumpkin pies. Aunt Ann would pick autumn flowers from the garden for the center of the table. She'd also bring in vegetables to eat with the turkey and the pies.
The older children would help set the table while the twin babies played in their high chair. But I liked to play with the cat, waiting for somebodytogivemepiecesof food. All this time our old dog would lie under the warm stove, watching the activity.
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