Thanksgiving on the Farm

Generally we spent Thanksgiving at my grandmother's farm during my childhood.  Until I was 4 years old, my grandfather was alive and owned the Trails End Farm, about 45 miles from ours in Poughquag.  After his death, my Uncle Web bought the shares from his three siblings, with the agreement that his mother (Nanny) and sister (Auntie), who cared for Nanny, would live there during their lifetimes. Uncle Web and Aunt Bess had built a separate addition to the farmhouse for their home.

We all gathered at Nanny's large dining table in the dining room for this festive meal.  Mother usually cooked a large rooster (we raised chickens and sold eggs on our dairy farm) and brought it along in the covered roasting pan.  It sat on the floor of the back seat and served as a footwarmer in those days before cars had heaters.

Each cook at Trails End prepared something to add to the meal.  Auntie always had homemade bread and home churned butter.  She brought out some of the pickles she'd made in the summer.  Then there were other vegetables as well as mashed potatoes.  Auntie always made delicious pies.

In later years, after Nanny's death when I was in high school, we gathered at our home for Thanksgiving.  Sometimes Auntie was with us for the holiday.  By then we no longer raised chickens on the farm, so Father purchased a turkey.  As the children married, those who lived nearby celebrated Thanksgiving at the farm. 

Grandpa's Blacksmith Shop

The small building behind our farmhouse consisted of the wood house and Grandpa's blacksmith shop.  The main portion, where Grandpa fired up his forge and hammered out horseshoes and other items for farm use, was two story.  The woodhouse seemed sort of an afterthought build onto this.

The upstairs was somewhat of a storage area, although we children sometimes played up there.  I never gave it much thought, why the building had two stories.  However, in later years, a family friend said he'd heard that small building was the original house, where the family lived until the larger main house was built.

I do recall watching Grandpa, who died when I was four years old, hammer the red hot horseshoes into shape on his forge.  He also used bellows to fan the coals hotter and brighter. 

I still have one of the horseshoes Grandpa made.  Actually he made it into a door knocker for the kitchen door of our farmhouse.  It's attached to a metal backing.  When you lift the horseshoe and let it drop onto the metal, the sound could be heard within the house.  I don't have a place to attach it to a door in our current house, but keep it as a fond memento.