A DIFFERENT THANKSGIVING
It was a cold but sunny Thanksgiving morning. The air was crisp with the bite of emerging winter and smelled still of the new wet leaves composting in the copse of woods north of our house. Through the barren trees I could see men on the slope a hundred yards beyond gathered in a circle and counting pellet holes on a cardboard target. All morning they had been shooting at the annual Turkey Shoot which Webster’s Store sponsored every Thanksgiving. Each man would come with his favorite 12 gauge to compete for one dollar a shot for a prized turkey or ham.
I had been at Webster’s Store earlier that morning with my Dad. We watched the men for awhile. Then, Dad shot. He didn’t get a turkey even after spending three dollars. He seemed happy enough. After all, the year before he had won a ham. Mostly, we just hung around.
For rest of the morning, we enjoyed the spectacle of the men rushing up for the count to see who had placed a pellet nearest the point where the lines crossed on a 6X6 cardboard square. It was a ritual of curiosity carried out with careful measurements, the confirmation of two judges and a final, “Now let’s see who the winner is and whose name is on the other side of the card.”
Actually, there is some skill involved in turkey shoots with shot guns but the person who actually wins usually does so mostly by happenstance. It is a matter of physics. No one can predict where a single pellet in a tight covey of whistling pellets flying through the air and, scattering as they fly, will hit. I learned very early that even if someone misses the target altogether with the bulk of his pellets he can still place a pellet in the X. Turkey Shoots with shotguns are largely a country man’s way of gambling with a good dose of socializing and camaraderie adding to the fun.
Dad and I stayed at the shoot that morning as long as the talk and dither continued. Off to the side there was a barrel with a roaring fire which cast warmth 10-15 feet outward at full blaze and when the coals settled a little it drew men into a circle like a magnet attracting iron filings. It was here that they began to tell tales and speak of their guns or plans for the rest of the day.
Before long, I heard someone mention Mr. Howell who was sick with cancer. I remember this because the Howells lived in a log cabin in the woods behind our house. My mama had told me before I went to the Turkey Shoot I was to come home by 12 p.m. and take dinner to the Howells.
Mr. Cooper remarked, “Yeah, Mr. Howell wins a turkey or ham every year. Poor old soul can’t get here this year, he’s dying.”
Another asked, “How does he do that? He must be lucky to get one every year or else spend a lot of money.”
Another entered the conversation,” He can’t be too lucky, he’s got cancer…” Silence.
“Nah, he don’t spend no money and it ain’t luck. He uses a goose gun. That d___ed thing nearly blowed a hole in the target last year. They oughtta outlaw goose guns…they shoot too tight a pattern…that’s the way he does it…” Catching the eye of another in the circle, the speaker added, “ but he’d win anyway with anything…he is a good shot for an old man.”
***
When Dad and I finally got home and stomped into the kitchen like two hungry lumberjacks Mom was just covering a basket of food she had prepared. Behind her the table was spread with our lunch which was a large pot of pinto beans, hot biscuits, Chow-chow, onions, and a large bottle of ketchup. However, there was a different meal in the basket. She had prepared a roast chicken, gravy, biscuits, mashed potatoes and string beans for the Howells and I had the temerity to ask, “Aren’t we going to have chicken, too?”
Mom looked at me with her don’t-ask-any-more-questions look and said, “I’ll explain later.” Then she turned around and ordered everyone to wash up while I trotted the path to the Howell’s front door where I delivered the meal and enjoyed the effusive joy of this slight little woman dealing with death and sadness. I think seeing Mrs. Howell’s joy made a colossal impression on me and to this day I remember that time as the moment when I began to learn it is “more blessed to give than receive. “
That night mama explained. “I fixed the special dish for the Howells because Mrs. Howell is having a hard time. We are going to have our big meal at Christmas and tomorrow I want you to go down there to get the plates and basket and tell her I want to wash her bed sheets and any clothes she has to help her out a little bit. And tell her I am not taking no for an answer.”
***
My mother washed those bloody soiled sheets and stained bed shirts for about six months until Mr. Howell finally succumbed. And, she had to wrestle them all by hand to get them through the wringer on our washing machine. This is one of my most pleasant memories of my mother’s caring side. To this day I give thanks for her example and the lessons she taught me.
Specifically, on that Thanksgiving Day I learned that sharing means giving the best and even better at times than what you will have to enjoy. We had beans and biscuits. The Howells had chicken and trimmings. In the long run, I have a treasure of a memory and a reason to give thanks that my mother taught me a simple lesson of generosity and caring through real example. It set the course of my best values for life.
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The memory of a thousand thanksgivings cannot supplant any single one. Every time we genuinely feel and give thanks it is as if it is unique and the most wonderful. That is the nature of giving thanks. Experiencing the flush of gratefulness is a thing of the moment and not of just a memory. However, the memory builds and deepens the individual experience.
This is true of the celebration of the holiday of Thanksgiving, also. Every one is unique to the moment. If one holiday is special it will contribute to the long train of celebrations and make each present one more special. In other words, there is a cumulative effect in giving thanks or the celebration of “Thanksgivings.” The giving of thanks always leaves us richer because that is the nature of giving.
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Thanksgiving is one of the highest human sentiments which takes us out of self worship or self centeredness and allows us to know the great gifts we have been given.
Thanksgiving is one of the best human therapies against depression.
Thanksgiving helps us develop the keenest of insight into the good in human life.
To be seized by a grateful heart and overwhelming sense of thanksgiving is to experience the holy.
Thanksgiving is not a debt we owe but the response to a gift we have been given.
