Over the river and through the woods,
To grandmother’s house we go.
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow…
It was a Thanksgiving song we learned in grade school. Do you remember?
I knew, from the moment I saw my farm, that they wrote that song about this stretch of land on the flat windy prairie of Colorado. Except I’m no one’s grandmother. Not even pretend. And there are no woods. We had a Dutch Elm epidemic and now there’s only one good size tree left on the farm. And okay, there’s no river, but there is a pond frozen over, the birds gone for winter. Somehow this land gives me the same craving as that old song. My dream of a farm, complete with fence repairs, daily muck, and endless lifting of hay bales and feedbags.
No one who lives on a farm thinks the life is romantic. I expect heavy work and financial challenges and sad days of loss. It’s just that farms balance on the edge of nature, where the wild and tame pass back and forth. The circle of life being always in plain view. Somebody is always being born and these days, it’s somebody wild; coyotes, or deer or varmints. And somebody is always getting sick or old, and dying. It might be one of mine. It might even be me, one of these years. If I know anything, death is as dependable as the wind. As ordinary as dirt. Farm life rolls with the circle.
I remember my childhood Thanksgiving days with awkward dread. My mother hated cooking, sadly smoking as she bent over the stove. Her food had the flavor of despair. The voices of football commentators covered up my father’s silence. My older siblings came and went and, as soon as they could, married, the acceptable excuse. The month before my eighteenth birthday, I moved away and my parents seemed better after we were gone.
For the next few years, stray dinner groups formed. The potluck offerings were thick and sweet, the celebrations always boisterous. There were fewer of us each year, as we made up with our families, moved off in pairs, or behaved like grown-ups when children were born. Being a stray became a sad label that felt like being a fraud. An imposter at the family holiday.
After a bittersweet drive home, wagging tails greeted me as we stumbled to the sofa for a dog pile. Years passed, sometimes I was married and other years single. Human love being conditional, I looked to those who were easier to please. They barked, nickered, brayed, and saw me better than I was.
My floundering stopped when I came over the river and through the woods to my farm. Here, I cook the bird. I set the rules, and all these years later, my traditions have become gloriously ingrown. Here goes:
One. I make stuffing in quantities to last the winter. It’s notable because my stuffing has all the major food groups, although bread is its least ingredient. I begin cooking by bribing myself with champagne. I would share my recipe, but it should be obvious that I don’t follow it. Then I top the stuffing with jellied cranberry sauce, still bearing the ribs of the can. By preference.
Second. I may cook better, but I enjoy it even less than my mother, so then I make a run for it. In the barn, chores are my excuse, but animals are the best part of every day here. On this holiday, I dawdle for hours. Thanking them properly takes a long time. Horses first and always, but donkeys, llamas, and goats, too.
I remember one Thanksgiving, a gaggle of four humans and six llamas took a constitutional down the road to digest our dinner. Llamas are the very best to walk with; quiet padded feet, not spooky, and ever curious. Gentle creatures without a bad word for anyone.
Third. I spend part of the day writing to you. I have posted an essay or poem every Friday morning since 2010. That means I write on Thursday, so it’s always part of Thanksgiving. I considered skipping this year since I am seventy. Since I shared my podcast already. But then around noon, I was mucking, scratching donkey ears, and getting randomly head-butted. Inspired, I started seeing pictures on the back of my eyelids. Nouns and verbs lined up behind my teeth. So, here I sit, clicking the keys, with dogs snoring underfoot. Writing is a tradition, too.
Fourth. This one is no fun, but if you love your animals, you take an appraising look around the barn. Because as inevitable as death is, a warm fall day is a kinder time to let them go than a terrifying and painful ground blizzard at midnight. And we are becoming a doddering herd. Are Edgar Rice Burro’s fetlocks holding? Are the meds helping Arthur, the limping peg-leg pirate goat?
Last week, we said goodbye to Sebastian, the last of the originals from that first year on the farm. The last of our dear llamas. He was ancient, lame on three legs, nearly blind, and much too thin. He wore the constant pain of a used-up body. It isn’t a crime to be old, I tell myself as much as him. It’s a victory. And now I’ll be his beloved predator. With no apology, because death isn’t a villain. It brings the end of suffering. It’s his suffering I can’t abide.
Now, like every Thursday, I pause my writing, hit save, and head out for the night feed. It’s a frosty nineteen degrees. Bhim, the mini, squeals out a crystal-shattering whinny of welcome. I throw extra hay to the big horses. Let Edgar and Arthur eat inside out of the wind. And smile to see Sebastian’s empty pen. So glad to spare him these cold months. I like to imagine him bounding along with our friends. One day, I’ll find out about the afterlife, but for now, it’s enough he isn’t hurting.
You would think it would be sad, but somehow it’s the opposite. This is what I mean about the circle of life being always on plain view here. It feels like a truer life because I can’t cherry pick only good experiences. I can’t have horses without manure, and I can’t love one part of the circle and deny the other. It’s about finding peace in both.
So, set the Thanksgiving table long. Let it spread over infinite miles, soaring across decades to all the loved ones who played a part. Life takes all of us, the good bits and the burnt. On this special day, remember the ones who have walked on and then remember you have not. Say grace, clear blue gratitude, and then clean up your plate.
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Best to your farm, Justinn
Beautifully written as always ❤️ Happy Thanksgiving to you and your herd
Thank you, Chris. Best wishes back.
Anna your Thanksgiving missive was lovely and heartfelt. Keep writing. I look forward to being wrapped in your words
Ah, Sarah… thank you. Happy to wrap.
Hello Anna,
I really enjoyed and needed your essay today. I am 66, retiring in a few months and have been wondering if the farm and animals are just too much. Your essay reminded me why my farm is good, worth it, and why I need it for my soul.
Thank you!
Oh, Jim. So many of my friends and clients have moved away. And they are too much some days… like you, my soul says yes.
I’m a bit more senior than you – no matter, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever been alone for Thanksgiving. Everyone had other things or people to be with – I was and AM with my animals also. One horse is older and not looking as fleshy as I would like, so getting extra feed while her sister and the burro look at me expecting some too. A handful because neither one is especially in need. The cat – only one now – has his own problems and most likely won’t be a lot longer for this world. It seems he needs a shot more often now to keep him out of trouble. As long as I can take care of all these guys, I’m good. Thankful to share my space and time with them.
Hope your day was as pleasant and quiet in its’ own way as mine.
Thank you, Leslie. Thankful even as age happens is what makes us who we are.
This is a lovely plate-cleaning. My 100-year-old, life-loving aunt died Thanksgiving morning. And Andy and I shared a meal with one of my sisters and her family. Our sharing was significant—having been estranged for several years in the past, our reuniting began with soft steps back in 2016. It’s grand, this circle. Grateful for you, Anna, and your words
Such a full, rich day. A circle indeed. Thanks, Patti. Best wishes to you and yours.
So glad you decided to write this! It’s poignant and perfect, such a deeply grounded way to look at life, with animals especially. I also have felt, as the wind and chill have moved into south Texas, “I’m glad Mari left us in the summer, before shivering time”.
Thanks, Susan. Best wishes to you and the herd.
Anna, this sounds like a wonderful Thanksgiving. However we spend the day and who we spend it with is within our choice of joy and comfort. I prepared dinner for 5, we played cards and laughed. And while all was grand I wanted to be with my horses after everyone left but no chance because they are at a boarding facility 1/2 hour away. So lucky you are in the presence of these sentient beings🙌 right out your back door. Working on manifesting the “right out my back door winnie” dream!
Thanks, Anita. It’s funny. When I look back on my days boarding my horses, they were the very best time… so much freedom.
In keeping with your thoughts on both the light and dark, Anna:
It was a stroke of luck for me to have shared a gathering with neighbors on that day. As humans do, everyone shared their tale of woe, each in turn. For what isn’t there to be aggrieved about, I thought? And then it was that woman’s turn. Surely, she had the most to be aggrieved about, as I prepared to feel sorry for her more than the rest of us. And yet, without a shred of humility nor hubris, she called out how thankful she was for all the gifts life bestowed upon her. That she had no use for the negativity that life threw her way but, instead, embraced the positive that made her the happy person we all loved about her and wanted to emulate.
In the years since – and there have been many! – I have often thought about her “bravery” to shun the negative. And up and to this very day, I often call upon that memory to embrace the gifts bestowed upon me.
Oh, of course there are problems. I love her… just like affirmative training, being affirmative is the only thing that works. It does feel like courage sometimes, and that’s a win too. Lucky you for knowing her, for doing the same. Pass it on. Pass the peas, too. Thanks, Lynell
I think I already posted the description of my Thanksgiving – dinner was great – just my son and I.
This is a really nice post, Anna – I believe many of us – those who are lucky enough to still have their actual hands on horses – and those of us who dont anymore – feel the kinship – as always. (hows that for a convoluted sentence?)
Its cold – way up to 33 now – I’m providing suet block for the birds, but have to start looking out for the deer – they tend to hang out closer in this weather. They are the only “prey” animal I have now. Same mindset as some horses I knew.
Hope everyone here had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Have to add, not a lot of affirmative going around these days – as Lynell said you kind of have to embrace it when it comes along!
Thanks for the shout out, Maggie. We are a triplet of couples here: Two horses, Two cats, Two humans. No dogs for fear of cat backlash! Though a pizza would’ve been okay by me yesterday, I hasten to add my husband’s excellent culinary skills made for a full complement of the traditional Thanksgiving meal I was able to enjoy. Horses got their carrot/apple appetizer while the cats want for nothing every day! Suet sounds like a good provision for the birds. Not sure what to do for the deer, though.
Check out your local feed store, Lynell – surprisingly they carry all kinds of wonderful things for deer – and in a place where its is frowned upon to feed them! I just buy cracked corn.
Glad you and yours had a great thanksgiving.
Yes, the kinship remains. Thanks, Maggie.
It was the animals and me this year, for the first time in decades. My family is traveling and I have too many animals to leave for long. I turned down invites, preferring to spend time with my horse and the rest of the day with the dogs. I feel obligated when the family is here, but I usually prefer the company of animals to most humans. We had duck this year with wild rice instead of stuffing and black cherry sauce in lieu of cranberries. A turkey seemed like overkill for one, and a duck reminded me of childhood in the north. My uncles were hunters so we frequently had duck or a goose in addition to turkey. We watched the dog show, Wilson, my Corgi provided his own commentary. I was surprised to see the breeder of my first show dog (Ibizan Hound) judging, and happy to see the Ibizan win the Hound Group. It is hard to beat a quiet Thanksgiving, doing exactly as one pleases.
Sounds great. Thanks, Peggy
I just got a one-two punch of the best grounding type by listening to yesterday’s audio and reading this. Already did my morning chores; will go out in a bit to let the horses loosen up and exercise in the outside arena and then ride my mare. Covid gives me a good excuse, if I need any, to stay home this Black Friday and enjoy the quiet, warm fire, and my animals.
That sounds nice, a Black Friday at home. Thanks, Michelle.
Oh Anna
Such a beautiful post. 🌷 We don’t have Thanksgiving here in New Zealand so I don’t understand much about its traditions but it sounds like a time to be together with our kin. The words that rang out most to me were your kindness in releasing your animal friends from pain. I too believe this to be the most powerful thing we can do for them. Unfortunately offering the same for suffering humans is not seen as a kindness here in my country and I had to watch my darling mother in agony for many years and with total awareness of all her body had to go through. One day maybe things will change but for now to be aware of when my animals are no longer living their best life here is something I can help them with.
Thank you for being out there
Karyn
Thank you, Karyn. I am sorry for your mother’s pain… It’s is a controversial topic here for humans, too. As you say, maybe one day…
I love your “ingrown traditions.” I was thinking intrinsic traditions, as in they might evolve from our basic nature. But I like the image of ingrown and how sometimes, after all our years, we need to pry it out and free it up a bit. Or we free it up as we are involved in the process, by getting to our chores where we get to dawdle with those who remind us that we’d do better to steal a little of their intrinsic better selves and follow their lead. Home is where the animals are. Last evening I came home through a landscape that gets more beautiful to me every day. And then best of all, the residents have come in from the pasture waiting for me, and I don’t care what their reasons might be. Thanks for a lovely blog and podcast helping each one of us find a way.
I meant ingrown to be a bit like a toenail… best wishes. It does get more beautiful every day. Thanks, Minna
I don’t have anything to add to the great comments that I am in agreement with, except that I am thankful for you. You are a beautiful human and I love that you make a world a better place for horses, llamas, goats, donkeys, dogs, cats, and people. Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks, Jane. I’m not that great. Edgar thinks I’m his hand puppet. Probably true. Best wishes to you and yours.
Here you are, the day after Thanksgiving ! I’m always impressed by your consistency over these many years, writing on Thursdays no matter what. I am so enjoying this essay today and reading about your traditions at your farm, your home.Thank you for sharing some of Sebastian’s story with us. What a sweet llama he must have been.
Thanks for reading all these years. I wouldn’t have my habit without yours, Sarah. And Seb would have liked you. He was the main greeter here.
Love this post, Anna! The polarities make me smile and i appreciate that. Yup, honor those gone before us. Celebrate that i’m here and living this amazing life. Thank you for all your sharing. I Love you!
I heard your heart.
Yup, Sandy. Home…
I have nothing to add to all the above comments above as they have said it all except you writing brought tears and smiles . Thank you.
Thank you, Beth. This circle is sad and happy.
I read your wonderful post this morning, after a grueling night of worry about my horse, Billy. Billy got hurt yesterday, late in the day and, living where we do, vet services are a luxury and we don’t get after hours service. I woke up and checked him 4 times in the night and he was holding his own. Sometime between the hours of 5-7 AM, my beloved Billy left me. It is still raw…hurts tremendously, but is a ‘life on the farm’ circumstance. Thank you for always addressing what I seem to need to read. All my best to you and yours.
Sorry for your sad loss, glad for the time you shared. Good boy, Billy. Nothing but good.
Take care, Tracy.
Anna, such a deeply moving piece for me (and so many others). After 22 years here on our property, it’s hard to imagine any other life. The depth of experiences here, constantly reminding me to live each day fully because life is a finite concept. I’m afraid that being closer to the finite portion of my life causes me to worry about how long I can manage here. This is truly a privileged existence. I will not leave it quietly.
Thanks, Laurie. It’s where I am, too. It’s such a privilege, and as long as I can hold a muck fork in my “cold dead hands…”
Ditto!