A brush with an old sage:

Thanksgiving

Makes Me Glad

by Hal Swift

I remember once, waking in a featherbed when I was seven.  I'd forgotten where I was until I smelled the cornmeal mush my Aunt Mye made for us sometimes for breakfast.

I opened my eyes and saw the wallpaper--stripes in places, floor to ceiling--and flowers covered all the rest.  There were dark oak doors with frames to match.  And I loved the wood.  Not only did it smell good, but when I touched it I had these life-like daydreams about another boy and how he did the same.

The doorknobs made of porcelain intrigued me.  Even on the hottest summer day their surfaces still were cool.  And on a winter day like this, their touch was frosty!  And, come to think of it, this morning all the windowpanes were frosty, too!

I never will forget the giddiness, and the tendency to giggle that came over me when I thought for just a second, "Maybe it snowed!  Maybe this Thanksgiving'll be a white one!  Maybe it really snowed last night!"

I wanted, at the same time, both to look and not to look.  But you know what I did.  Of course!  I looked!  But not right away.  First I had to listen to see if it had snowed last night, when all of us inside this two-hundred-year-old farmhouse were asleep.

But I kinda felt maybe God liked surprising us.  Just like we did when we'd tiptoe up to hang a basketful of food on some old lady's door, then knock and run and hide, and watch how surprised she was when she stepped out on the porch and saw what she had got. 

She'd shade her eyes with one old bony hand and peer in all directions, calling out, "Hoo-hoo!  Anybody there?  Who brought me this?  My, my," she'd say, "I 'spect it must have been an angel!  Why, just look at all these goodies!  Even 'pears to be a turkey, too!  Well, whoever you are, if you can hear me, I want you to know that this here old lady 'preciates it, yes indeed, and thanks you, too!"

Don't you just know, that God'd get a kick out of doing something that way--sneaking around while we all slept, and laying down a foot-deep covering of snow? 

And without even leaving footprints when he ran to hide behind a tree somewhere to see how pleased we were with what he'd done?

So there I stood, right in the middle of the floor, shivering in my long, wool underwear, and all I could hear was my cousins snoring.  No, that's not quite right.  Downstairs, I heard my mom telling her sister how good it was to be here, back on the homestead, "Even for just a day or two."

And I could hear my Aunt Mye say, "Um Hmmm," while she hummed "Rescue the Perishing," just the way it was inside the hymnal.

And then I heard ol' Uncle Roy out chopping wood, and--you know--it sounded different!  And, I thought, "By God, maybe it did snow!"  I could think that way, but I'd never say, "By God" out loud, except it's just us kids.  Dad'd hear that, he'd bust my butt.  "Well," I tell myself, "you'll never know if you got snow if you don't take a look."

So I closed my eyes to make surprise await that one, delicious instant, when I popped both of 'em open to look out toward the barn.  'Cause, even if it was a light snow, there's bound to be a little up on the roof of that big ol' barn.

Walking to the window with my eyes closed, I stepped on cousin Verlin's fingers where he slept on a pallet on the floor, making him holler, and call me something bad.  But I didn't care, because by then I'd reached the window, and my fingers on the glass said, "Okay, boy, get ready to pop them eyes open!!"

And so I did.

And there it was!  Oh boy, but it was pretty!  I couldn't get my breath except to moan, and Verlin said, "Shut your mouth!"

And I said, "Verlin, it snowed last night!"

And he said, "Naaw!"

And I said, "Yeah it did, boy, and you'd better come over here and see it for yourself, 'cause I don't believe I've ever seen snow this deep!"

And Verlin got up on his hands and knees, and kind of sneaked up on the window so's he could look, and when he saw it he jumped stiff-legged up and down in front of the window and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Snow! Snow! Snow!"  And waked up everybody else, and they started screaming, too... except for sister Betty, and she just cried.  But she was only three.

Then Mom came and hollered up the stairwell, "Breakfast is ready, kids, whenever you are!!!"

And some kids dressed, but most went down to eat just how they'd slept.  I stood there for a minute, just staring out the window, smiling.  And I noticed how Jack Frost had painted "ICE!" inside the panes. 

And I tasted it with my tongue.

And, you know, it didn't taste half bad.

And I can almost taste it now, and still feel glad.  Although, instead of glad...as a grown-up, I know it's thankfulness. 

And if I listen, really listen hard, I think perhaps I still might hear my mom as she hollers up the stairs, "Breakfast is ready, whenever you are!"

Or maybe hear ol' Uncle Roy out there by the woodpile, chopping kindling.

And, if I could, I think this'd be the best Thanksgiving any ol' country boy has ever had.  Because now I know...it wasn't just the snow...that made me feel so glad.

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Here’s a short link to the History Channel’s feature on Thanksgiving.

http://tinyurl.com/2cdrmo

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(Ed. Note:  For a closer look at Hal Swift's cowboy poetry, go to http://www.cowboypoetry.com/halswift.htm )