11/23/2023
Thanksgiving Grace ~
Lately, I’m having difficulty approaching Thanksgiving with grace. Struggling with the state of our union before we even sit for dinner. So, I attempt to move beyond political battlefields and remember that food can be a healing medicine. I think of my Irish grandmother, who wanted only a wreath of bittersweet at her graveside—“because like life, it is both bitter and sweet.” She was also quick to remind us: never forget the sweet. Certainly, this holiday has roots that offer both sweet and bitter cues for reflection. As bittersweet as life can be, I still hold Thanksgiving as a persistent challenge to reach across the table, a reminder to celebrate the sweet. I want to relish life, to learn from history, to remember the millions of deeds that come from love, not hate, and the ordinary acts that bring us together over tables.
Life can be easier when we offer up an appreciative hug, a kind word, a genuine olive branch. Not humble pie, but local parsnips, cider, cheese, and beer. A jar of garden preserves, an old family recipe for cornbread. I’m slowly learning that the stewardship of shared habitat is perhaps best learned communally around a potluck table. Snapping beans in good company. Peeling squash in a stream of sunlight. There is healing that comes from cooking together. Deep nourishment that comes from forging solutions around to the table. Day-to-day living that provides common ground for the seeds of our shared future.
So add an extra leaf to the table. Keep the tradition of breaking bread with the stranger, reserve a place for that relative you struggle, lately, to welcome wholeheartedly. We are all products of our times, and our aunt’s Brussels sprouts. Remember that collards rock. Find the thread. Revisit meaningful recipes, scratch bake in good company, teach a child to knit, make apple butter together. Slather it on. Cut open another pumpkin and sort seeds to roast, and seeds to plant.
Try to grow beyond the familial thicket and graft onto better root stock, when you can. Gathering around groaning tables, we can let veggies and love be the things we serve up in excess. As we peel, chop, and roast, we add ourselves to the mix of countless generations that have pondered, over pumpkin pie, how to grow a better squash and advance civilization. Clasp hands or knead dough, and get back to the earnest work of living. There is still time to plant next year’s garlic, fill our cupboards, share some cordials with kindred spirits, and replenish ourselves for the cold season ahead...
'Thanksgiving Grace' excerpted from my book "The Heirloom Gardener - Traditional Plants and Skills for the Modern World" https://www.amazon.com/Heirloom-Gardener-Traditional-Plants-Skills/dp/1604699930/ref=sr_1_1?crid=18IE9KRVYB2L&keywords=john%20forti%20heirloom%20gardener%20book&qid=1637012192&qsid=142-2534266-1903157&sprefix=john%20Forti%2Caps%2C304&sr=8-1&sres=1604699930%2C1635650836%2C0486429784%2C1452145768%2C0760368724%2C1641525096%2CB097L1DXL7%2C076035992X%2CB08W7DMWZ3%2C1571988459%2C1525804618%2C1401324398%2C0988474913%2C1603442138%2C1616895543%2C1603421386&srpt=ABIS_BOOK&fbclid=IwAR1LE0j6IgQv14as_nuKKdx1tt2Nxij6Szwuktt6EmPML-nt4F0c5v4exrc
Thanksgiving Dinner from "Fantastic Mr. Fox" (1970) by Roald Dahl, illustrated by Donald Chaffin
