A Very Bradbury Thanksgiving

For the past several years, my mom's family has celebrated Thanksgiving at my parent's farm.

I know this sentence may bring a picture to your mind of a few people gathering quietly in the small farm cottage around a table with a traditional banquet of Turkey, dressing and cranberry sauce.

That's not exactly what it's like.

Let's amp up that "few people" to at least 30. You see, my mom has 6 siblings and they all have kids, and a lot of their kids have kids. Then you add my grandma Bradbury, my dad's parents, and my great uncle Gene. ...Oh also add in whoever my single cousins (those who are brave enough to bring someone new) might be dating, and maybe a friend or two.

Overwhelmed yet? It gets better.

Along with sound of a football game, my mom and her sisters and sisters-in-law love to talk, and this no meager chatter. They're solving the world's problems, redesigning their houses, talking over their kids, and that's all before breakfast.

If you don't hear one aunt talking to another, there's trouble afoot and you better watch out! Or just eat...because the food is good enough that even Aunt Sissy takes a break to just enjoy for minute.

...Just teasing, Aunt Sissy!

There's always an entire room and a half in the farm house designated for food. The kitchen/dining room obviously hosts the meal itself which includes:

• 1 HUGE turkey
• 1 GIANT roaster pan of dressing, Grandma's recipe.
• 1,000 rolls--the truth is I have no idea how many rolls, because the container seems to spontaneously refill itself throughout the day
• 1-2 vegetable and/or fruit trays
• Several cans of cranberry sauce and sometimes Aunt Jill's Cranberry Salad, which is awesome!
• 1 huge bowl of potato salad--the same recipe I posted earlier this month but at least doubled.
• 1 jar of pickles--because as a 3 year old I cried because I didn't get a pickle, so grandma makes sure they're always on the table. I'm never going to live that down.
• Various side dishes--this changes from year to year. Usually there are some kind of green beans, maybe jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese and bacon, corn casserole, mac-n-cheese for the kids, etc.

In the adjoining backroom/office you'll find:

• 1 dozen pies--this may be a little exaggerated, but not by much.
• Other desserts--this is where people like to experiment. We all have a passion for sweets. I theorize this stems from Grandpa Bradbury's life motto "Life is short: eat dessert first."

To illustrate my point, I'll insert one of my more recent Thanksgiving memories. My cousin Aaron brought some foreign-exchange-student friends from school. The three or four young men walked into the kitchen before everyone started eating, their astonishment was apparent, and they immediately started taking photos of the table full to the brim with food. I never really thought of it as all that novel until then. ...They hadn't even seen the desserts!

With a quantity of food capable of feeding an small army, you may justifiably question how all the people fit in my parents' 3-bedroom, 2-bath farm house...especially after they are full of Turkey and pie.

Amazingly, everyone manages to fit in 2 rooms most years. A pair of long tables set up end to end in the front room can accommodate most of us. Then a table in the back room is enough for those of us who prefer a smaller, quieter atmosphere. Usually any cousins with guests unaccustomed to large family affairs try to snag a spot back there. Also, the dessert is back there, so it's a pretty sweet place to be. ;)

Once everyone has eaten his fill--and then another plate full--plus dessert, some of the food gets put away. What won't spoil stays out for people to graze on. If there's a time after lunch and before everyone leaves or goes to sleep for the night that at least one person is not eating, I've never seen it.

I've confessed to my readers before that my inner child is obese, so you must understand that this day is simply a dream come true for me.

As if it could get any better, my family is one of those families who play games. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve playing Scatagories with my Aunts and cousins or Chinese Checkers with Grandma--she's a master at that game.

Even more than actually playing all these games, I love watching my family interact. They all love to play games, tease each other and laugh. There's a lot of that, laughter.

I didn't always appreciate my family's sense of humor the way I do now, and I think it takes a while to get used to for some.

But what I've come to understand, although I think I've always felt it, is that teasing, joking and playing pranks is how they express their love. It's not a mushy group. There are few "I love you's" floating around. That is, except for grandma who genuinely concludes each and every visit and phone conversation with "remember I love y'all!" even if she thinks you're doing the wrong thing. (We disagree about the necessity putting onions in potato salad, but we don't let it come between us. ;) )

It's not a typical kind of close-knit family. I see most of these people once or twice a year at most. But whatever happens in my life I know I have those 30+ people behind me all the way. I've seen them spring into action more than once to support the ones they love.

Just a couple of examples: I saw it when we lost my grandpa, and the months following when my grandma needed help setting up a new independent life. I saw it when my aunt had (and beat!!) cancer. She's one of the toughest ladies I know.

At so many other times, I have seen this immense love spring into action. Phone calls, prayers, trips across the state to help out, and whatever else can be offered is done wholeheartedly. When tragedy strikes someone in this family, they are never really alone.

That is all brought together, to me at least, on Thanksgiving. It's a time to restore the ones who are struggling with a compassionate ear or a corny joke (or dose of reality when it's needed). To air out, then set aside what's bothering us and be filled...literally and emotionally.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm thankful this Thanksgiving, for my very Bradbury family and I can't wait to see them next week!

Lunch!

Today I decided to go all out for lunch. So I'll share with you what I did.

On the menu, barbecue country ribs, Grandma's potato salad and "fiesta" corn.

First, I boiled 5 peeled and chopped potatoes. I put a little salt in the water, about a tablespoon.

"Oh no!"

Then I put about a teaspoon of baking soda in a small saucepan of water and turned it on high. Then I set three (decorated) eggs in there.

While those boiled, I got out 3 large country ribs from my freezer. The package held 7 so I split it before I put them in the freezer. I usually use the smaller country ribs and I think I like them better. But the larger ones were the only ones in stock. I thawed the ribs in water.

When the eggs had boiled steadily for 10 minutes I drained them, cracked them and refilled the pan with cold water.

I let those soak up the cold water and let go of their shells, while I got out the rest of the ingredients for my potato salad. Just like grandma, I don't measure anything when I make potato salad so all of these measurements are approximate.

5 potatos, boiled and mashed
1 T butter
3 hardboiled eggs, chopped
3/4 c pickles chopped
1/4 c mustard
1/3 c sandwich spread
Salt and pepper to taste

Optional ingredients: onions, pimentos

I usually just drain the potatoes, poor them in a bowl, add the butter and let it melt.

Then I add all the other ingredients and use a hand mixer on low until it's fairly smooth. If you boil the potatoes until they're soft, it shouldn't take much time with a hand mixer.

J and I like our potato salad cold, so after I get it together, I throw it in the fridge until everything else is ready.

By the time I've got that done, my pork chops are just about thawed. I put them in a little casserole dish and cover them in barbecue sauce. I put foil on the top and cook them in the oven on 350 for about 45 minutes. Preferably, you would cook them on 275 or so for 2 or 3 hours.

Mmmmmm!

When about 30 minutes had passed I started on my fiesta corn. I put a T of butter in a sauce panto melt, while I chopped half a jalapeno and half a bell pepper. I sauteed those in the butter and chopped 1/4 onion--maybe a little less than a quarter. I let those saute all together for less than a minute, then I added a drained can of corn. I mixed it in thoroughly and once it was warm all the way through I put it on low until I was sure the meat was done.

Sho'nuf it was!

I like to make my husband work for a good meal, so I asked him to clean and set the table while I got all the food out.


And that was lunch...and that will also be dinner, because it was a lot of food!

Can't Take the Country Out of the Girl

Lately, I've been missing the farm where I grew up. I haven't lived there officially in four years, but it was my home for 10. The farm I lived on before that was the same farm I came home from the hospital to and stayed until I was 8. So for the first 18 or so years of my life, I could look out my window and see wide open spaces for miles.

When I was a kid, it used to bother me that I couldn't walk to a friends' house like my city friends did, or that I could only use my rollerblades on our little concrete slab, since the road wasn't paved. The time I most resented living in the country is after the snow thawed. All my friends would tell me about how they spent the snow days together playing. I just had to play with my lame older brother and our dog.

Looking back, even the things I resented about my rural upbringing were pretty awesome things for a kid like me. I got to really enjoy spending time with my friends because it was a special treat to be together. If I got mad at one of them, we had to learn to work it out because there was no leaving wherever we were.

I may not have to gotten to rollerblade as much as I wanted, but I got pretty good at riding my bike in the sand, and I also cherished walking on the dirt road, in the turn row or out in the pasture. It became important to me to go out by myself and explore nature.

Even snow days were awesome. Mom usually cooked something warm and delicious, bundled us up and sometimes went out to play with us. My brother wasn't as lame looking back as I thought. We had a great time together most days. Although, we fought all the time and I never would have admitted to myself as a kid, he really was the best friend I had growing up.

With all these warm fuzzy memories, you would think it was my childhood I was missing, and you may well be right. But what I've been missing lately is not limited to the simplicity of my childhood or even the amazing family who raised me, it's the land as well.

It's not that I want to live on that red clay again. The wonderful life my parents, their parents and several previous generations live or lived is not mine or my husband's ambition. We are seeking a different path that suits our talents the same way farming fits my parents. I'm happy with this path. It's the one we chose for our life, and I'm passionate about it.

I just like to, from time to time, get back to that place where I can take a walk and not be seen by numerous neighbors, surrounded by their houses, cars, and other technology. I want to feel alone with nature, not just anonymous in a sea of people. The open land is where, on this earth, I can best reconnect with myself. When I'm out in a pasture or a cotton field, I can think clearly and understand how I'm connected to the universe.

Right now, school is nearing a close, and the final push of effort will determine my success or failure. My wonderful husband and I are navigating our roles in each other's lives and the professional world. And, I find that in this time of exciting transition and stress, I look for the comfort of sitting in the shade of a mesquite grove, red clay on my shoes, and a warm southern wind blowing through the prairie grass and cactus leaves.

This is not to say that I'm unhappy, or will not be perfectly content in my current state for the rest of my life, if need be. I am, truly, incredibly blessed.

But, like any person, city or country raised, there are things in our pasts that help define who we are for better or worse. Sometimes reconnecting with those parts of our pasts helps us to move forward.

Fortunate for me, (Lord willing) Thanksgiving is coming, bringing it with it an opportunity to set my feet back on the red soil that sticks to my heart long after it's gone from the souls of my shoes. I'll be thanking God then as now for the beautiful earth he's given us, and the land the Smiths have called home.