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Have you told your kids about it? Did you explain it to your grandkids? Where were you? What did your family do for the holiday? What was your favorite part? What has changed since then?

A couple of mornings ago, I woke up thinking about my Thanksgiving plans for this year.

Then, I went to the kitchen and pulled out a plastic container of fresh organic strawberries to put in my cereal. Suddenly, I saw this awful image of a box of frozen strawberries in my mom’s refrigerator. (Hang on – I’ll bring this back to Thanksgiving in a minute.) I remembered what a big deal it was to have strawberries in the winter. I remembered what an ordeal it was to defrost them. I remembered how “runny” they were. I remembered how happy my whole family was to have strawberries for a special treat.

Then, I got to thinking I bet my soon-to-be-50-something children and my grandchildren, who are in high school and middle school, know nothing about these frozen strawberries. Then, I got to thinking they probably don’t know much – if anything – about the foods we ate back in the 1950s. Suddenly, I was remembering Thanksgiving Day 1957, when I was 10, and realized that I wanted to share this experience with my family. They will find it hard to believe. (You might want to do the same, dear lady.)

Historically, passing down information from one generation to another was one of the revered roles of older women. It was important to share family recipes and traditions. It was imperative to learn how food was grown and preserved. It is important to share how life has changed.

So back to 1957. It would have been super cool if my mom had defrosted frozen strawberries for our cereal on Thanksgiving Day, November 28. I’m sure I just poured myself a bowl of cereal from a box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes or Frosted Flakes with Tony the Tiger on it. Mom would tell me not to eat much since I would soon be stuffing myself. Besides, I was still kinda full from the day before because my grade school, Denver’s University Hills, had served a full Thanksgiving dinner to all the kids that day. (Oh, my – no fall break for kids like today – we only got two days off back then.)

We did have a television – a colored one, to boot – but I never saw a Macy’s Parade until I had grown. My dad did not turn on the television to watch football as soon as he got up. Some of our neighbors went to the DU Pioneers game at a stadium not far from our house. I don’t know if there was a CU Buffalos game televised. I don’t even remember him listening to football on the radio. Of course, I had not heard of Charlie Brown.

So, after breakfast I got dressed. Yes, probably in a dress, one of my school dresses; but, since I would be visiting some horses before the day was over, my beloved blue jeans would have been more appropriate. Of course, I wore my saddle shoes and anklets.

Around 11 a.m., my family would pile into my dad’s brand new Pontiac, the coolest of cool cars with its gray top and gray arrow on the side. In a box in the trunk would be some pies my mom made, sweet potatoes from an old family recipe and a salad. I’m guessing she covered then with wax paper secured with a rubber band since Saran Wrap was fairly new and probably cost more than wax paper. We were headed to my Aunt Kay and Uncle Paul’s house in the new “suburb” of Denver, Westminster.

I could hardly wait to get there to play with my cousin “Murph,” who was six months older than me. We drove on the recently opened Interstate 25 to their new blond ranch home located in the newly developed Shaw Heights subdivision.

When I walked into my relatives’ living room, the fantastic Thanksgiving aroma enveloped me – turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy and stuffing with raisins. Aunt Kay and my Grandma George, who had come from Casper, Wyoming on a train, made the best. They were the only women I knew who worked: Grandma was a waitress and Aunt Kay was a secretary.

It wasn’t long before we sat down to eat. The adults ate in the dining room and the kids, Murph, her brother Bobbie, my sister, Jan, and me in the kitchen. What a feast we had – all those things I have already mentioned, plus cranberry gel from a can my aunt put on a glass dish to showcase the pretty color, canned corn and rolls. Recipes for cranberries, corn or rolls did not exist on Pinterest. Everything cooked from scratch that day came from recipes handed down from previous generations. Further, fresh or frozen cranberries or corn was not available at grocery stores.

After eating all that, my aunt would get out her wonderful mixer with three – that’s right – three beaters to whip up cream that had been delivered by the milkman the day before. She would stir in a little powder sugar and vanilla extract. Also, we would have mincemeat pie my mother had cooked the day before.

After dinner, Murph and I went to the farm that was behind her house to give the horses apples and sugar cubes. (Another time we went ice skating on the farm’s pond. I used Bobbie’s skates, which were too big for me. The ice was bumpy, not smooth like the University of Denver Ice Arena where I went skating almost every Sunday afternoon.) Of course, that farm is long gone. It is filled to the brim with houses now.

Afterward, we came back to Murph’s house and ate some of Aunt Kay’s wonderful homemade candy: divinity and fudge.

Too soon it was time to go. I kissed my grandmother and told everyone goodbye. We piled back in the Pontiac as the sun was going down.

No, we were not hurrying off to join the lines at stores for their midnight Thanksgiving sales. Stores were never open on Thanksgiving.

As always, the sun setting behind the Rocky Mountains is a site to behold. I soon fell fast asleep.

Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, November 5, 2019