I have always loved Thanksgiving. It’s my far my favorite holiday. I remember Thanksgiving as a child as a beautiful crisp sunny day. My sister was in charge of the Stove Top. I was in charge of heating up the fried apples. As soon as the turkey came out of the oven there was a battle between my sister and father trying to grab the first little pieces of turkey before dinner. There were only ever four of us at dinner but we all dressed up and used tablecloths and goblets for water. I thought it was the finest dinner you could ever have.
But the best part was the day after. I did not grow up shopping on Black Friday for anything except two things: a Frazier Fir Christmas tree and a fried apple pie. We would get up early with a thermos of coffee for my parents and hot chocolate for my sister and I and drive to Roaring Gap to Motsinger Tree Farm. We would carefully check the trees for fullness, for softness of needles and for smell. You would lean as far into the tree as you could and take a big whiff. Christmas.
After the tree was selected and roped to the top of the car, we started back to Winston-Salem. Not far from the farm was a little gas station where we stopped every year for a fried apple pie. The moment I bit into that pie my Thanksgiving was over and the season of Christmas had begun. Perfect.