Go Stuff Yourself

His long grey bushy eyebrows and pot belly told a story of one who had seen a thing or two and lived to tell the tell. This kind old codger full of sage wisdom with adages such as, “little flake, big snow, big flake, little snow,” understood the patterns of the coming weather better than the meteorologist on the six o’clock news. He could tell how many cows were around the bend by the hoof prints in the dirt. His calming presence and gentle spirit could tame a wild horse or frightened human. He never locked his front door and it was always open to anyone who stopped by. He made all who entered feel loved and accepted.

Honored to have known this gracious Native American, he taught me life lessons that I will pass down to his ancestors for generations to come. Some of these lessons were practical in nature while others were more meaningful and substantial. It was thirty years ago this Thanksgiving when he taught me how to make his homemade stuffing. I was pregnant with his granddaughter who would come to be his name sake. At only fifteen years old, I was still a child myself, and he took me under his wing. We hosted the largest, most meaningful thanksgiving of my life that year.

He showed me how to prep the turkey with salt, garlic, and a whole apple. I squeamishly learned how to remove the neck and the gizzards. He had me fry those up in a pan with butter and a Walla Walla onion. Once the savory aroma filled the kitchen, I was prompted to add mushroom caps, freshly cut carrots, celery, and black olives. As those cooked down he had me add even more butter and hot water to the pan. Then came the Western Family bread crumbs with the dried sage. After the bread crumbs soaked up all of the liquid, he showed me how to spoon every ounce into the twenty-seven pound turkey. This was not your store bought ‘Stouffers’ stuffing. This was a cowboy’s personal recipe that could rival Julia Child.

We had much to be thankful that year. New friends, new family, and new traditions. We feasted for hours on mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade dinner roles, and pumpkin pie made from pumpkins straight from the garden. It is a memory I hold dear every year and a recipe I continue to use. I fondly remember George each thanksgiving and am reminded of all the stories he would tell. Some of his stories were full of hardships and pain. Others were filled with fun and adventure. However, all of them were filled with hope and gratitude.

I pray you and your family have your own inspirational stories to share. I also pray we all find reasons to be generous everyday. May we live a life well-lived like George did. May we live from a place of grace, forgiveness, hard work and love. May we feast on all of the goodness of God and may we take the best traits of this amazing soul and stuff life full of thankfulness.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Joy =)