We should all be thankful

There was a tree. Pecan. A friendly giant. Older than all the other nearby trees. Older than my grandparents. Older than the house they lived in. Older than the train tracks that ran nearby. We grandchildren would rush down the hill to the back pasture and pick up the pecans it dropped on the ground. Cracked the shells. Ate the meat. Saved the rest in brown paper sacks to snack on later or to be made some day into pecan pies.

Thanksgiving and pecan pies go hand in hand. Tradition. You might could have one without the other — Thanksgiving without pecan pie, or a pecan pie in the middle of July — but I won’t. Thanksgiving, turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, pecan pie with a dollop of whipped cream on top. Or not. Depends on how I feel.

I make my pecan pie without an ounce of Karo. The old fashioned way. It surprises most people when they give it a try. A good surprise. Especially if they grew up hating pecan pie. Mine usually converts them. 

My mother was always surprised I could talk cooking. I can still hear her say things like, “Well, why didn’t you ever cook while you were living with us?” Probably because I was a kid back then, and she was a good cook. She never taught me to cook. She just set a good example. A subliminal one. And I am thankful.

My father dreamed. Had big ideas. The ones that sounded amazing but never quite panned out. Then another dream would come along. And then another. A weird kind of frustrating hobby. But all the while, he worked long and hard to provide. Set a good example. And I am thankful.

My mother-in-law is a social butterfly. Likes to talk. Sing. Sit out on the front porch and visit with neighbors. She’s not much into cooking, but she has plenty of ice cream in the fridge. Enough to share. She makes every grandchild feel like they are her favorite. She still sets a good example. And I am thankful.

My father-in-law was a putterer. Puttered in the back yard. The garage. Picked up limbs. Kept the cars running. Found a way to keep the house AC working without paying a pro. If anything needed fixing, he’d do it. He’d fix things before they even needed it. Or at least try. Set a good example. And I am thankful.

My wife is patient. After 40 years of marriage, she keeps hoping I’ll change. Learn how to fix stuff. Mow the yard before it needs it. I’m thankful she hasn’t kicked me to the curb. But she’s kind. Knows we all have strong points. Weak points. She can be a social butterfly. Likes to putter in the yard. Read. Play piano. Has big dreams. And is still surprised I can talk a good recipe. Maybe a little sad at me taking over the kitchen, which used to be her domain, but not sad enough to fight me for it. She likes my pecan pie. And I am thankful.

I often think of that little house where my grandparents once lived. The train tracks still there but unused. The house now owned by strangers. Somebody else’s grandchildren running down the hill to the back pasture. Unfortunately, the friendly giant no longer lives there. But at least he set a good example. His offspring are everywhere, growing tall and dropping their own soon-to-be pecan pies to the ground. And I am even more thankful.