By far one of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving dinner involves pumpkin pie. This is the first year in I don’t know how long that I won’t make the traditional pie for dinner today. My granddaughter-in-law prepared the dinner and I’ll honor whatever she has chosen for desert, but rumor has it that I make the best pumpkin pie in the world. Just ask one of my kids. 🙂
Anyway, the thought of the pies brought to mind this essay from my friend Slim Randles that I first shared here back in 2017. It’s still a fun read, as are all of the stories he shares with us.
Since I didn’t make any pies this year, maybe you can go to Steve’s house for a slice. That will become clear when you get to the end of Slim’s story. Enjoy!
Steve will have Thanksgiving dinner over at Doc’s and Mrs. Doc’s this year, and any number of his friends are grateful for that. Steve is one heckuva cowboy and trainer of young colts, and a good friend to all, but he’d never make it as a dinner host.
Very few Thanksgiving dinners achieve legendary status, but “Steve’s Thanksgiving” was certainly one of them. Some said it happened because he’s lived alone and cooked meals for himself for so many years. Some say he has worked alone for so long that he isn’t of a coordinating mind. The answer could be buried in the middle there somewhere. Steve himself isn’t certain.
It all happened early in Autumn a couple of years ago when Steve completed his cabin up in the mountains here. He’d even finished the turret. In about September of that year, he’d started cleaning the place up on his infrequent visits, because he just knew somewhere inside that he’d created a modest monument there and wanted to share it with his friends.
Naturally.
So, back at the ranch bunkhouse down in the valley, he’d studied up on how to roast a turkey: what to put on it, how to thaw it, how to tell when it’s done, all that stuff.
Then he invited his friends for Thanksgiving dinner, up at the cabin. He told each one that he’d be fixing a turkey dinner up there and to come on up and have some fun. And each of them, in turn, asked Steve what they should bring for the dinner.
“Oh, I don’t care,” he’d said, “you know … whatever you’d like, I guess.”
He said that to Doc and Mrs. Doc. And Dud and Emily. And Herb. And Bert and Maizie. And Marvin and Margie. And Mavis at the Mule Barn.
That Thanksgiving Day was a sparkler … crisp sunshine, Fall colors. Oh man, it was great!
And the turkey was in that wood-fired Home Comfort range and looking brown and juicy when the friends started to arrive. They’d each made the considerable drive up the mountain to the end of the road, then walked in the last hundred yards to the warm and cozy little cabin.
And each of them … every one of them … brought a pumpkin pie.
Turkey and pumpkin pie. Traditional favorites on Thanksgiving. But … strangely enough, after three of the pies had been consumed, there were still some left over.
But hey, that turkey turned out all right. And this year, Steve’s going over to Doc’s and Mrs. Doc’s for dinner. Mrs. Doc told him to bring biscuits.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Brought to you by Arizona’s Book of the Year, “Stories from History’s Dust Bin,” by Wayne Winterton.