Thanksgiving 1925 -
Bless This House

by the late Paul Humphrey

First printed in the Suburban News
and Hamlin-Clarkson Herald
November 23, 1992

Prelude
Thanksgiving was Thursday, but Monday the real beginning, preparations for a family gathering at the old home, built a century ago.

First chore - a trip to the loft to fetch extra leaves; after much hauling and heaving, square oak dining table became oblong banquet board. By Tuesday, kitchen into workshop. Pans, pots, platters, kettles, ladles, mashers and cairns of china everywhere. Corn, carrots, squashes, beets and potatoes stashed in corners; jars of cranberries, applesauce, pickles and olives, cider and nut meats at the ready, and traditional turkey ensconced in the top of the ice box.

Wednesday, lady of the house in frantic action; vegetables to cook, pies to bake, cakes to make and a hundred other errands. Father, home early, requisitioned as finder, mixer, slicer and wood splitter. Two children, 10 and 11, kept busy with varied assignments, including licking out bowl and spoon left over from cake frosting miracle. Cooking was managed in and on the coal range. Most of the cooking, but not all.

Brick Oven
The turkey was special. Wednesday night the brick oven was washed out, and half filled with scrap paper, fine kindling and hard maple sticks. About midnight, the fire was lighted; at 3 a.m. refueled.

Thursday, 6 a.m. Armed with a wetted broom, father swabbed out the ashes while a gush of fragrant steam rose to the ceiling. In went the turkey, stuffed and basted. Frequent checking required, the heated bricks could burn up anything left over-long. Ten a.m. turkey done, removed, and replaced by pies.

Arrivals
Biggest excitement got underway when all those people came. First was Aunt Laurie, actress, linguist and adventurer, who swooped up in her great green Paige with a hood so long and seats so low that a child in front couldn’t see very much but the gas gauge. With her were grandfather and grandmother Ball from Rochester and Aunt Mary Sprague. Next along came Williamsons; cousins Doris and Gerry and Grandma and little Jack, in an art deco Franklin with wire wheels and a rear end compartment for golf clubs. Stuffed in the back seat were May, Ethel and George Humphrey. Joe Ball showed up with his Cole 8 roadster and passengers Clarence, Mary and Alice Ball. Last, and somewhat least, was a Model T with a master body piloted by Uncle Winfred Smith and wife Charlotte, a children’s book writer. Uncle W, a caterer for such as George Eastman and the Hirman Sibley Watsons, generously praised everything. Joe and Win and Paul and Jinny were, of course, there. The score was twenty.

The gathering
The women plunged in to help Mother Humphrey in the kitchen with a cacophony of clatter and chatter. Men clustered around the comforting glow of the fireplace. By one o’clock, the table was laid and surrounded by 20 unmatched chairs, eight on each side, and two at each end. The turkey was set out, and Uncle Clarence, a retired marine officer, applied his little sabre to dissection of the bird. My father, an Episcopal lay reader, offered thanks, and all happily filled themselves to bursting. Old Jock, the beloved collie-cum-shepherd, circled the room cadging scratches and leftover snippets till sprawled on the hearth in a surfeit canine desuetude.

After all that came the sighs of the sittings - the news and the nods and tales of occasions remembered, till shadows crept into the eyes and the woods and the crevices. Time for the kerosene lamps.

Parting
After much sorting of garments, goodbyes and embraces, the various drivers assembled their wards and belongings. One after the other chilly mechanical started. The gathering dusk was illumined by the amber of headlights. At last they were gone but forever beloved and remembered. There had been music. No radio but a contrary crystal set offside on a book shelf. However, there was the Victrola. Rolled out and wound up, it produced from its groaning acoustics some scratchy Caruso selections. Lastly, a song and a timely and sweet benediction, “Bless This House.”