The Turkeys I've Known

I believe, somewhere in one of the family albums, there is a charming child with large eyes, curly hair, oxblood oxfords, sitting in a high-chair with a drumstick of a turkey nearly as large as herself. That would be me. For some reason, the turkey drumstick became important to me early in life and has not diminished. I am no longer that sweet baby with the drumstick. I am older than dirt at this writing and I may yet bowl you over to get to the drumstick before you do! I love the Renaissance Festival for the primary reason there are smoked turkey drumsticks to be had at every other stall. I usually limit myself to one; well, two. Whoever heard of Long John Turkey? Why would I want to leave Tom Turkey one leg and a crutch when I could have two and he would qualify for a wheel chair? See what I mean? Mention turkey and my mind unhinges. Mom always cooked perfect turkeys. Of course I was born the last of 5 children with a 21 year spread in our ages from oldest to youngest so she had much practice before I sat at the Thanksgiving table. I digress. Perfect turkeys were something I came to expect. We ate one at Thanksgiving and another Christmas Day.

When I married Dave, we had turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas until he suggested there were other foods for holidays. He suggested ham. Ham? Pigs don’t fly! Pigs don’t have drumsticks! Pigs aren’t stuffed (unless you count the apple they always put in the mouth). Ham is for Easter. You may begin to see the effort it took to convince me the work of fixing a turkey for two holidays approximately 30 days apart was something Dave did not undertake lightly.

We made several attempts to find a Christmas meal that suited us that was not turkey. Don’t misunderstand. Dave loves turkey as leftovers: sandwiches, ala king, soup, pot pies. He does not like getting up at four in the morning to stuff icy cold stuffing into an icy cold bird to get it in the oven so it will be done in time for family to partake of everything but the work involved. He also did not appreciate the fact that, while we did return to bed, I sprang up every 30 minutes to baste the turkey. In his opinion there was one turkey in his life that wasn’t even available as leftovers; even the pilgrims would have put her out of her misery! Home baked beans are another all night treat but I’ll leave those for another story. Our later years have seen some times of beef or pork on the table at Christmas.

Back to my original thoughts: turkey. My roommate in my single years, Karen, and I tried to convince the world we could cook. To some extent this was true. We used recipes and made whole meals, some of which were edible. For a short time, we had two other roommates. Their idea of their weeks to cook meant eventually over the period of a week we would receive a meal. Monday, dessert; Tuesday, salad; Wednesday, hot dogs (with or without buns); Thursday, beans; Friday, chips and chocolate. We were so thankful when Saturday rolled around and we all helped in the kitchen for two days. Karen and I tried to have a holiday meal before we went to our respective families. We cooked a turkey a couple times. The first time, we both agreed we liked stuffing and crispy skin. We argued over what goes into stuffing and reached a compromise of some of each of our favorite herbs. We stuffed, buttered, cooked and basted our little turkey. We loved that thing nearly to death! In our poor attempt to make sure the skin was crispy, we crisped the entire bird! We over cooked it. It was beautiful. It was nearly picture perfect. Way down inside farthest away from the heat of the oven there was even a little meat that would not break a tooth. When we put a knife to the breast, the whole thing popped open with a crackling noise and a gush of steam. Literally we had mummified it. Good for us we compromised on the stuffing as that was the only truly edible part to the turkey.

Dave’s and my first Thanksgiving was spent with my folks. Our second Thanksgiving was while Dave was in Viet Nam and I spent it with my family again and Helen had the drumstick (one disadvantage to having children). Our third Thanksgiving was spent with him still away from home at Fort Leonardwood, Missouri, and me with my family once again. Therefore, our fourth Thanksgiving was to be, wonder of wonders, in our own home with Dave’s dad and brother included. We made everything from scratch. Our table was picture perfect. We served mashed potatoes with gravy, homemade rolls, vegetable and salad, cranberry sauce, banana bread, cranberry bread (my mother’s recipe), pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie (there’s a lovely story at Dave’s expense about mincemeat pie), real whipped cream, stuffing and, of course, turkey. Most of the food was rather tasty and the turkey was good. The homemade rolls might have been used as deadly missiles. Dad McElyea ate several and I’m positive it took him at least a week to digest them. Helen and Billy got the drumsticks (darn kids!).

For a time, Dave and I tried the latest cooking methods when it came to turkey. There were the days of the turkey in a roaster (oven type or freestanding), on the grill (nasty), in a brown paper grocery bag (later considered possibly poisonous by the experts), in a new and safer turkey roasting bag (later discovered to contain carcinogens). We cooked turkeys breast up and breast down. We share the work. Our stuffing does not contain any raw meat so it is permissible to be cooked inside the bird (temperature probe tested for correct degrees required).

One year when I was a teen, Dad had a 35mm movie camera. His first real use of it (other than catching all of us in less than flattering activities) was Thanksgiving. He had not yet mastered using the pictures in a way that told a story. Odd; because dad loved to tell stories and he was very good at it. This particular story became an amazing parade of many Moms always entering from the kitchen with food in their hands, going past the camera, but never returning and never setting the food down. The camera was stationary and did not follow the food nor record Mom returning to the kitchen for more. We laughed heartily and long when the film was developed. There was no record of our having ever eaten the food, no record of empty food bowls and platters. There was only a parade to rival Macy’s. My dad always loved a good joke. If the joke was on him he loved it even more. He rarely laughed hard but when he did, he gave his whole soul up to laughter. Watching that film he laughed so hard he had to keep mopping tears.

For many years, we shared Thanksgiving with my sister, Dorothy. Most of the rest of Dave’s and my families were out of town. Dorothy and I would work together to prepare the meal and it was held alternately at their home or ours each year. My sister, Pat, and her son Larry would join us. Pat worked long hours to care for Larry and keep a roof over their heads but always brought an offering to the table. Dorothy’s husband, Will, had a penchant for clearing the table as soon as the meal was over. Being a slow eater, my plate was often whisked away before I was finished. After becoming a mom, I was even slower and lost even more food (much to Will’s delight). One year, Dorothy and I planned I would be served first and eat early. As the plates were dished and people sat to eat, I jumped up, grabbed Will’s just filled plate and scraped it away! Yes, it was a sad waste of food. Yes, it was premeditated. Yes it was all worth it to see the look on Will’s face! He never again took my plate.

Sadly, those shared Thanksgivings came to an end largely because of alcohol. Both heavy drinkers, Will and Dorothy became more and more difficult to enjoy. Dave was working shift hours as a police officer and often had to work holidays. While we would change the hours of our eating to coincide with his having to leave for work or return home from work, the alcohol was more important to Dot and Will than timing. Dorothy would never consent to eating until she had her fill of alcohol (she said she could not drink once she had eaten. What a shame.). When it was our turn to have the meal we didn’t offer alcohol and timed it for Dave’s schedule. The final Thanksgiving together occurred when Dave left for work without a meal because Dorothy was still busy imbibing. We made a tough decision that we would welcome them to our home but the alternate year exchange was ending. I am thankful to say, there was no argument, nor broken relationship over the decision. I am sorry to say that probably they were relieved to not have to miss out on their drinking except for the years they came to our home.

My brother, also an alcoholic, returned home to Minnesota when Marc was a young teen. He preferred solitary holidays, so spent very few with any of his sisters. After going through treatment at VA Medical Center, he did alternate between us. Always fighting depression, he still preferred holidays away from people. I may be wrong, but I think it was the first Thanksgiving after the death of Dorothy, he agreed to have Thanksgiving with us but wanted it at his apartment. He would spend the morning at the AA Center where he worked in the kitchen and would prepare Thanksgiving for all the men and women without families who would come to be together, smoke countless cigarettes, and drink endless cups of coffee. Everett was set on seeing to it they had a family feeling and a celebration before he returned home. He suggested we come early, cook our bird there and celebrate with him when he was done at the center. Okay. We would adjust our supplies and cook in his efficiency apartment.

The AA Center was at Chicago and Lake, and Everett’s apartment was just off Franklin and Lake. Once a rather posh area of Minneapolis, it was now a place to get mugged, watch drug deals going down, and see the sad side of humanity. Many fine old houses had been turned into apartment living and Ev lived in one. It was a living room/bedroom combination with a kitchen. It was drafty and cold. He was fussy about the cleanliness. We arrived, let ourselves in, put the already stuffed turkey in the oven, got the potatoes ready to put to boil, set the table, and plated the relishes, breads, etc. that would go with the turkey.

That’s when the oven began to smoke. The oven was too small for the size turkey we had brought. No matter what we did we could not get the cooking turkey to not touch some area of the oven. After about 30 minutes of fighting the smoking oven, the fire detectors began to wail. We grabbed Everett’s window fan. Dave had the fan, I had the plug from the cord, and Helen was running from window to window unable to open any. Marc, tall for his young age, was fanning the smoke detector with a newspaper. Keep in mind the entire square footage of the apartment was approximately four feet! We are not small people. Helen finally got a window open; it was not near any known plug in! By this time, all the smoke detectors in the building were going off. People were spilling out into the hallways. We found an extension cord, plugged in the fan and the smoke began to dissipate. People in all levels of poverty were banging on the door. They were yelling at us not to burn the building down as if we thought being trapped in there with them would be fun! We got enough of the smoke to go out the window so we could open the door and assure them all was under control. The smoke detectors stopped bleating. All those people were staring in at the happy little, white, middle class family who were staring out at a mix of hard-working poor, drug users, alcoholics, prostitutes, and homosexuals. We might have invited them in but they wouldn’t have come. In their eyes we were crazy, didn’t belong, and looked dangerous!

For one moment in time, the odd mix of assembled people were united in a desire to have our holiday, spent in our individual ways, and not become crispy critters in a burning building! We got the dinner on the table albeit we had to keep the window open and the fan going on a day about ten degrees above zero. The food tasted good, yup very good. It was good to be with family no matter the circumstances. For me, the hysterical giggles began before we closed the door on the outraged but relieved group in the hall. I’m sure they thought Dave, Helen and Marc were hiding the fact that I had escaped from the local asylum and tried to burn the place down. They probably thought it was Ev we had stuffed in the oven since he put in no appearance at the door.

Relating the story to Ev when he got home was even better. The expressions on his face ranged from grateful he still had a place to live, to wondering if his neighbors would lynch him when the crazy lady was gone, to laughing as hysterically as I was. My dear, obsessively neat brother, who smoked like a chimney, was irritated that his apartment smelled smoky and he would have to wash walls! Go figure!

While Dave and I were waiting for our granddaughters’ bus to arrive from school, we noticed a wild turkey in their yard. It was a hen who had been a pest in the neighborhood off and on all summer. She had nested in the neighbor’s yard. Her chicks were grown, but she was tending the home fires still. We watched her for awhile as she moved from yard to yard. She wasn’t taking to the air much; her design was not aerodynamic and a lot to lift off the ground. We tired of watching her and both opened our books to read. After about 5 minutes of reading, we heard a noise. Looking up, we were nose-to-nose with Mrs. Turkey staring in the windshield at us. All of us looked like cartoon creatures – you know the kind where the eyes are large ovals with lots of parenthesis shaped lines around them to show surprise. She stared in; we stared out. We laughed and she looked indignant. She soon jumped down and strutted away. I know what we thought of her. I wonder what she thought of us.

One more Thanksgiving I must relate. In 2010, Marc, Jenny and the girls headed to Disney World for the Thanksgiving holiday. Kevin and Helen invited Dave and me to go to Nebraska to spend Thanksgiving with Kevin’s family on the ranch. We all said our well wishes and our requests to be careful ahead of time and settled into planning for a “different kind of Thanksgiving”. While Marc doesn’t like large puppets, the pictures from their holiday show that the family enjoyed each other and the change of pace. This year when I asked if they would like to spend Thanksgiving with us, they decided to have just their family celebration. I understand. Last year was exciting and fun, but Marc needs to know there is no gigantic Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy (well I’m still around) looming over his shoulder.

Early (very early) on Wednesday, Dave and I drove to Kevin’s and Helen’s home and added our last minute stuff to the suitcases we had already put in their car (a Mariner) Tuesday evening. We had thermoses of coffee, donuts, and were off! Dave rode shotgun for a spell and Helen and I shared the back seat. We are both pretty good at making good use of small spaces so we arranged those things that didn’t fit in the back space around us and settled for the long trip. We settled, that is, until we both began to complain about feet and legs being cramped. When we stopped for breakfast, it became apparent the stuff Kevin keeps under the front passenger seats had not been removed as requested. With mutterings, grumblings and much pulling and shoving we got the stuff stowed other places in order to be able to move our legs.

I won’t go into great detail about the ride down there, but we got to our motel around 9:30 PM and checked in. We again piled into the car and drove through the very dark Nebraska night to the ranch. There we met a small portion of the large number of Kevin’s family that had already assembled. We deposited our offerings we made prior to the trip on the table for the feast the following day. There was not much to see about the ranch as it was dark as pitch! Pitch? Did someone say Pitch? They all love a good game of Pitch (a card game seemingly devoid of rules and played with any number of people and multiple decks of cards). Guests are not allowed to bow out because they don’t know how to play!!!! It was after midnight when we saw our beds.

Early the next day, we met for coffee and small talk. Kevin, Helen and Dave made small talk. I hovered over my hot coffee as usual hoping I would come fully awake sometime over the next 24 hours. At the ranch, there was a procession of people. There were sights and smell totally unfamiliar. Their Thanksgiving table holds a lot of southwest flavored foods (tacos, and taco salad, corn bread, chili). The turkey meat is pulled and kept warm to be eaten with a variety of gravies and sauces to add to it and there is beef and pork as well. We all had a place to sit but I don’t know why they weren’t hanging some of us from hooks by our shirt collars. What a lot of people there were. I understand not all could come that year.

Friday, Kevin took me on a walk around some of the close to home sites. John Deer and Allis Chalmers tractors from several eras were there to see. Juniper bushes shielded the ranch house from the wind (which was bitterly cold even thought the temperatures were mild). Across the road which was about a half-mile driveway from the house, was the homestead where Kevin’s mother had lived. All four of us went over to the old homestead and Kevin told us stories about being a kid and breaking horses there. He showed us where his Dad, brothers and cousins have their deer stand. It is made out of hay bales with a wood plank roof and a few broken down kitchen chairs for all the comforts of home. While Dave and Helen were walking in the field and freezing their noses off, Kevin and I were in the deer stand protected and quite comfortable. No dummies between the two of us!

To be seen are cattle. Lots of cattle roam the hills. Along with the cattle one can see jack rabbits, mule deer, sand, spike weed, sand, prairie grass, sand, lots and lots and lots of blue sky! In other blogs I’ve mentioned that sensation of wanting to just start running or walking. There it was again, but this time I could try it. It took very little walking to realize the vista points were much farther than they looked in the pristine air; the peaks I wanted to top could not be reached by a person used to city blocks to count the distance. Kevin took us on a ride to show us places he played, or worked, or got into trouble as a youngster. The one room school his mom attended is just a set of steps but we could see the foundation marks where it once stood. Around one bend in the road, we came to a deep canyon. We got out looking and photographing the canyon. Kevin is very patient with me and helped me pick a seed pod from a spike plant. It resides in a glass jar on my window sill.

Later in the day, Kevin and his brother, Les, used Les’ truck to give Helen and me a tour (Dave declined and will always know he missed something special!) We went cross country! Heavenly! Rocks, ruts, gullies, hills, fences to open and close and we bounced and jounced our way across the prairie. The day was sunny and the wind was raw. It smelled . . . well, tangy! A cow and her young calf had wandered over from a neighboring ranch. Mama kept a wary eye on us as we got close enough to take pictures. She was more at ease when we finally drove away. I have to say there is no describing that ride fully here. Suffice it to say, being seat belted meant the next bounce (and there always was one) would tighten the seatbelt to strangulation tension. Getting rid of the seat belt to breathe meant the next jarring would send us skyrocketing to the ceiling of the cab or rolling from side to side. Helen was enjoying watching me suffer the way I had made passengers suffer!

I have to tell you about “UPS delivers”! A UPS truck came down the road and pulled into the long drive to the ranch house. This is not a paved drive but a sandy, rutted, long, long trail to the house. Kevin and his brother, Les, and his half brother, Troy, stepped out onto the patio thinking he might be coming to ask directions. Now, these three men strolled out in jeans and work shirts, boots, and less than greeting faces. They weren’t menacing nor crabby but they weren’t waving and calling “how dye” either! They just stepped out. The UPS driver put his truck in reverse and backed all that long way down the drive when there was a perfectly good turn around to use. They watched in surprise as he made it to the road. Troy was laughing because now the truck was turning into the old homestead which obviously was falling apart from disuse. They shrugged it off figuring he would see the error of his ways and come back for directions. About fifteen minutes later, I was sitting at the table trying to practice what Kevin had taught me about getting used to the distance and recognizing cattle from mule deer. What to my wondering eyes appeared? Not a tiny sleigh, nor Santa, nor reindeer. The UPS truck was headed cross country toward the hills the other side of which only contained more cross country and hills. He was also headed right toward a herd of cattle grazing them thar hills. He was not on a road, nor a track, nor a cattle track. That boy was lost! We never saw him come back.

I think God created animals to give us a picture of ourselves. Although we’d like to soar like eagles, glide like swans, leap like deer, and have the wisdom of owls, we tend to be more like turkeys. He made us more to have trouble taking off like loons, waddle like ducks, be earthbound like penguins, and need Him for wisdom. He allows us to do the stupid, flop and fall, so we will allow Him to pick us up, dust us off and let us try again. While all the Thanksgiving praises come to mind: family, friends, work to do, food to eat, a place to sleep, a spouse who is most often patient with me, I am most thankful for a God who hounded me from Heaven until I asked Him please to no longer leave me on my own but take charge of the life I can’t manage alone. It is much to thank God that Jesus paid for the wrongs I commit without even thinking.