We asked some of our favorite scribes to riff on the part of their down-home Thanksgiving they simply couldn’t do without. Here’s what they said. (Stay tuned for more…)
We would rather watch our Georgia Bulldogs. Or our Atlanta Falcons.
But the early Thanksgiving football game always involves the Detroit Lions and usually some other team we don’t much care about, and, like most other men between Savannah and Memphis, my brother John and I watch the game anyway, because it is still football. And because we are useless.
The sound is off on the kitchen television, replaced by the music of Tom Petty and Band of Horses—the Southern rock Mom needs to hear while she rolls out the crust for her pie. Our sister Rachel whips the sweet potatoes for her casserole, and our sister Liddy mixes her cornbread stuffing.
And we sit here in our ancestral home in Ludowici, Georgia, half-watching the Lions but actually watching three women we’ve known all our lives, cooking the same food they’ve always cooked, in a kitchen that once belonged to our great-grandmother. And for all this we give thanks.
It’s Not Thanksgiving Without A Call From Mom
It’s Not Thanksgiving Without Long-Boiled Green Beans
It’s Not Thanksgiving Without Mema’s China
It’s Not Thanksgiving Without a Late Night Run to Piggly Wiggly
It’s Not Thanksgiving Without a Moment of Thanks