Thanksgiving is a house brimming with people, the hubbub of voices interrupted occasionally by a child calling out "Mom", the TV blaring the Detroit Lions game, and the abounding fragrance of comfort food.
Preparation for the day begins days earlier. There are buns to make, pies to bake, cranberry relish to grind, and a turkey to thaw. Each female child has chores to complete to ready the house for guests. Clean what is visible; upstairs bedrooms need not be addressed, and if there is time Mom will tidy her bedroom as it becomes a coatroom for the day. Chairs are dusted, table leaves are inserted, silver is cleaned, china is counted, and tablecloths are pressed. Mom stays up the night before making sure the dressing is prepared and floors are mopped.
Thanksgiving morning means finding time to stuff the 24 pound bird and getting him into the oven while still assisting with milking the cows. There are no barn chores that can be set aside simply because we have guests coming, and the rush for the one bathroom begins. Seven people need a turn, no one can dawdle, and make way for Dad as soon as he gets in from the barn.
Guests begin arriving just before noon, each family bringing their contribution to the meal. Only a few are missing as the lure of hunting deer draws them to the forest. The kitchen becomes the center of activity. Last minute preparations are completed: gravy is made, serving dishes are loaded, glasses are filled, family is seated, prayer is recited. What took days to prepare is consumed in a matter of minutes, but the pleasure of conversation goes on far longer.
The day is crisp and clear, and possibly there is snow. Children are bound up in winter wear and shooed outside for whatever activity their imaginations can create. Adults will relax; women in the kitchen taking care of leftovers and packaging to-go plates for the grandparents; men in the living room watching the game and discussing weighty agricultural issues. Soon dusk arrives; a sign that families must return home to again milk the cows. Our house returns to a normal routine.
The children of the Hayes home are unaware of the memories that have been created on this day. It will be years later, when time and jobs have scattered them, that they will return to these Thanksgivings in their minds. Thanksgivings that were a house brimming with family, possibly a glimpse of the joyous House of God we will someday occupy, and the Family of God that provides endless love and togetherness.
