To the Editor,

"To Grandmother's house we go," I shout. There have been flurries of snow since early Wednesday morning that have drifted to the hollows and fence cords near Panther Run and had given the country a sketchy unfinished look, but on Thanksgiving Day, the fields and roads were covered with a couple inches of snow in Brooke County.

This was going to be a real holiday in my childhood memories. I was in the warmest part of the kitchen as I arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's farmhouse. The turkey was cooking on the old coal-black cast-iron stove. I could see a Holstein from among the bewildering, beautiful snow. Sparling rabbit tracks abound and there the loosely woven latchwork of quail tracks that could be seen as well.

Where the briars and weeds were tied they bent down under the weight of the drifts but held up sufficiently to provide hiding places for the rabbits and quail and shelter them from the cold. This was the Thanksgiving of my childhood memories.

The roast turkey was big, 18 to 20 pounds. "Too many cooks spoil the broth," Grandma explained as she added salt and pepper to taste. She revealed the entire process to the wide-eyed grandchildren - one big heaping spoonful of bacon fat, sage and one cup of chopped celery and onions was her secret recipe. She would go into detail about how she would clean the turkey inside and out. Rinsed it with water, then pat it dry. She saved the liver, gizzard and neck for giblet gravy.

Fruitcake, mincemeat pies, buttermilk pies, pecan pies, jelly layer cakes and a large variety of cookies, mutton, ham, venison, steaks, assorted vegetables and desserts were served. When the clock in the hallway chimed three, Grandpa would lead the Lord's blessing.

He wore old, faded blue overalls with a small stain from the gravy he sampled when Grandma was not looking and a black and red buffalo plaid shirt. There was so much food a body had to wonder who else was coming later to finish it off.

I just could not get my mind off the Holstein I saw earlier. Such were my childhood memories when snow was waist deep and Thanksgiving dinner was cooked in a cast-iron stove.

To Grandmother's house, if only we could. Like so many others we love, she has gone to have Thanksgiving with thee angels. May God bless on this Thanksgiving 2009.

May the falling snow blanket our world in a white coverlet for our family graves and prepare us for the Christmas season.

Thank you.

Michael Traubert

Wellsburg