Guess what though, we have a new and improved roadlog..HERE  Go check it out and let us know what you think.

In the past I called Thanksgiving the time when we all gather around and watch (and hear) old people eat. It was crass, yet accurate—flippant, but honest. It’s my nature to turn the things that make me uncomfortable into a joke, a blustery and acerbic observation, and in the process give the impression that I completely miss the point. I get it, though.

This year my last grandparent standing was laid to rest. Iola Evertson, my father’s mother passed away just eight days after her second youngest grandson—a fact she will never know. I know, though. I know and remember both of them, and I can’t help but see them through the lens of all of those family holidays. We saw each other times, of course—but never so consistently together, and that, of course, is the point.

I will miss all the people who have left my world, by whatever means, this Thanksgiving. I will also, however, be thankful that they were in my life at all, and appreciate everyone who has had the ways and means to stick around—as long as they chew with their mouth closed.

Gramma G’s approach to cooking:
An international assortment of recipes, some received from new friends while traveling, always sensitive to heritage, tried and tested, adjusted and readjusted and shared in plentitude. Hours and hours spent in the kitchen.  That woman could cook.

Gramma C’s approach to cooking:
Frozen food aisle, section : dessert, 10min in the oven. That woman could not cook.

Loved them and miss them both equally. Thank you, Gramma’s, for showing me a variety of opinions and lifestyles.

May your day be filled with fond memories, new memories and delicous food. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

We are no strangers to the weekend estate sales in our area. We’ve shamelessly poked (gingerly)  through drawers of old ladies kitchenware, walked side ways through hoarders basements, dug file cabinets out from decades of garage scientists laboratories papers and samples, stepped over piles of worn out tupperware and one time bought an orange suitcase we swore was red until we got it outside. But this sale was in the COUNTRY. Championship Goat tenders (we saw the ribbons) nestled on the side of a hill with dozens of ramshackle sheds filled with….junk. We usually aren’t too surprised anymore with what we see in peoples homes..but the box of semi-freshly severed deer legs wins top honors in “holy smokes, what are they selling THAT for? Hmm..I wonder how much they want….”

Photos by Ross Evertson.