The first Thanksgiving was a feast that lasted many days, a celebration of gratitude to God for a good harvest and a fervent prayer of hope for a successful winter.Today we gather with friends and family acknowledging God’s blessings, much as the pilgrims did. We enjoy one another’s company with plenty of food; talking, sharing, loving. This is a season when I reach into my cluttered cabinets, pulling out family treasures from generations past. Each item brings warmth to my heart with fond memories of the aroma in kitchens of my childhood.
Such are these two vintage Watt Pottery pieces. They carry me back to Grandma Davis’ house where her love language was to cook up somthin’ good for her family, no matter when we surprised her with a visit. We’d arrive in Tazewell and find her sitting on the porch glider, clothed in a dress and white apron. No sooner did we climb the front steps to greet her, than she’d jump to her tiny feet, give us a big hug and head to the kitchen. Seems like only yesterday, but she’s been gone 28 Thanksgivings now. My how we miss her.
Thanksgiving is somehow better in the mountains of southwest Virginia. Leaves turn many shades of oranges and reds, become crisp and fall to the ground while the trees hunker down for winter snow. Spring always comes awakening with warmth and growth assuring us that the cycle continues, just as He planned.
The Railroader's Daughter 