By Jan Penton Miller

With Thanksgiving fast approaching I think back to the old green farmhouse where I spent many happy holidays with siblings and cousins running to and fro. Thankfully, my papaw and

mamaw lived on a farm in the country with plenty of room for the passel of grandchildren that swarmed over the table like locusts practically eating everything in sight. I have to wonder how my grandmother could keep up with so many hungry mouths, but she always had a table fairly groaning with food.

In like fashion, I have begun to make preparations for my family’s Thanksgiving meal. Although I believe mamaw made everything fresh the evening prior to and on the big day I find that practice to be way too much trouble. Not to mention the fact that I don’t like getting up in the middle of the night to start cooking, so I start early and freeze dishes of scrumptious holiday fare.

I cook many recipes that are variations of the ones my grandmother used to make. When I look back I understand when my children and grands want the same traditional meal year after year. Inevitably, I think I would like to try a new dish or two out on them, but each year they nix the idea. There is comfort in tradition, and when all is said and done I’m glad to oblige.

When our old car squeaked its way into the long driveway up to the farmhouse of my youth, we didn’t want something new. We wanted the same turkey and dressing that we had every year along with all the fixin’s. We wanted to sleep on quilts on the floor next to a roaring fire and scamper and play in the chilly air after a hearty breakfast. We wanted to run in and out slamming the screen door while our grandmother hummed as she worked to prepare all the goodies.

The aunts helped out, but mamaw did the lion’s share, and everyone knew it. Occasionally, one of the older married cousins or other adults would make something new, but it didn’t hold our hearts and taste buds like the sweet and savory concoctions from our dear mamaw’s kitchen. What made her cooking so special? Maybe it was simply the love in her eyes when she looked at us.

When I discussed the menu with my sweet girl, Cherrie, she once again reminded me that everyone wanted exactly what I have always made. Why would I change a thing? What a blessing  it truly is to have the same family, the same food, and the same love for another year.

Things are always changing, but this year as we enter into the season of Thanksgiving I take comfort in the constancy of my loving family. As an old country song’s lyrics remind me, there is food on the table and a log on the fire. Now if it would only cool off for that fire!