Day of Thanks

We had a fabulous turkey day season, even though we didn't have turkey.  R made the best ever Indian costume at school.

B and I got to see her sing with her class and then eat a feast in front of us.  And by "eat," I mean pick over and declare that this and that and the other thing are yucky.  She has a little way to go in the gratitude department, especially when it comes to food.

On Thanksgiving itself, Shaggy took his son and his air rifle out to look for squirrels.  

He's been talking a lot lately about how squirrels make great hot wings.  And Aunt N (who joined us for the weekend), wisely informed him that squirrels don't have wings.  Although they do seem to disappear entirely whenever Shaggy is outside with that air gun, because he always comes back empty handed.

While dinner was cooking in the fire, we set out into the back woods for a little adventure.

 We had some fun, found some fascinating creatures under an old log, dug up a little tree, and caught ourselves some sun flares.

Shaggy proved to be a great fire chef.  Not to be confused with fire chief.  He lost his chance at that when he left the Chicago fire department twice.  Ah, well.  I like it better here anyway.  Although I really, really miss that schedule.  Always will.

The chicken came out perfectly.  Nice flavor.  Not overdone.  Perfect.

We were slightly dismayed when we pulled the lid off the sweet potatoes.

They looked a little too crispy.  But surprisingly, once we peeled off the charred skin, they were perfect inside.  I'm not much of a sweet potato fan in general, but these were flavorful and had a smoother consistency than any others I have tried.  Kudos to the fire chef.

There were other parts to our meal, but who wants to hear about them all?  Everybody helped, which was nice.  The other part to remember was how adventurous it felt to cook over a fire.  We did it a few times in Cali, but something tells me it will be a much more frequent occurrence around here.  Someday there even may be a lot less guesswork involved in the process.

We were happy to share our meal, and our laughter with Aunt N.  Who never fails to bring a lot of laughter of her own.  She finds so much humor in life, which is awesome.

Apple berry pie.  Also awesome.  Though the apples were a tad bit undercooked.  But since I didn't make it, I probably shouldn't be too critical.  It was delicious.  And warm.  And was a great complement to some creamy vanilla ice cream.  Shaggy is well on his way to perfecting this pie.  But I hope that he never actually reaches that point because he claims that when he makes the perfect apple pie then he has to give up making them forever.  How can you follow perfection?

So, really, it's in my best interest to find some fault with each and every apple pie he makes.  At least until he gives up the notion of not wanting to follow perfection.

My favorite part of the day happened when our two littlest girls were tucked snugly in their beds and the rest of us gathered around the table to enjoy a second helping of pie.

Because that's when the family storytelling began.  There was no itinerary that dictated that that was what we should do.  It was prompted by a simply phrase from one of the kids, "Remember when . . . " 

And we sat there for hours listening to confessions from the girls about things they did when they were younger.  And we told their favorite funny stories about the silly things they did once upon a time.  J enjoyed being included in the after hours gathering, a privilege he doesn't always earn.  

We talked and laughed and ate.  The perfect ending for our Thanksgiving.