It’s been a quiet week up here on the mountain. My little slice of heaven in the great northwest.
The calendar says autumn, but up here, it says winter, complete with around three inches of fresh snow on the ground. When I went out earlier, there were fresh rabbit tracks around the sheds. They make their winter home under the sheds, and come out at night in search of food. The lovely wife and I have talked about picking up some food to put out for them during the winter when their food is scarce.
We recently had two young moose wander into our yard. They were checking things out, and seemed unconcerned about the lovely wife and I stepping out on the porch to snap a few pictures. They stayed around, moving up onto the bank behind the cabin, then going to the end of the driveway before crossing the road to my son’s cabin for the mineral licks we have there for them. They were enjoying it when last I walked down the driveway to check.
The Thanksgiving break was not due to begin until the day before the holiday. However, due to a rapid rise in Covid cases in ours and surrounding counties, the Panhandle Health District went to red status on Thursday last week. This meant that the schools here shut down after school on Thursday until they figured out how to proceed. The lovely wife has since heard that school will resume on the 30th with a mask requirement for all students and staff.
I am reminded of a Thanksgiving tale from my younger days; it has become a kind of family tale, told around the table when we all sit down to eat. I was probably 16 at the time, and if memory serves, we were living in a little house in Ossipee Village in the foothills of the White mountains. Every year, my uncle and his family would come by for Thanksgiving dinner. We had a long table, and food covered it from one end to the other. It was easier to pass your plate, rather than having a dish passed to you, since so many people were trying to fill their own plates. I had added some things from the serving dishes right in front of me and handed my plate to a cousin who, in turn, handed it off to another down the table so food from other dishes could be added to it. The idea being that they would then continue to pass it on further until it was filled and passed back to me. Well, I never saw that plate again. In the rush to fill plates, others thought it was a plate to take things off of, so as it was added to, something else was removed.
After a while, I asked where my plate was. It was then that everyone realized what had happened. Everyone had a good laugh, I was given a fresh plate, and this time it was returned to me after passing it down the table. My mother will often bring it up at this time of year and we laugh about it still. Sadly, my favorite uncle is no longer with us, and I lost my father a few years ago. However, the memories of that holiday will live on as long as I live.
Well, that’s all the news for the week. Bye for now.