For My Sake

I lifted the aluminum foil tent and squinted at the steaming bird underneath, uniformly browned like some Florida beachcomber with a perfect tan.    I hadn’t baked a turkey for several years, and this one was a beaut.  When she exited the oven all crispy and golden, I placed her next to fresh-picked mint and a single lustrous yellow flower.

Her aromas wafted through the house, carrying memories of lavish Thanksgiving and Christmas meals from the past.  Back in another era, I'd literally turned our farmhouse kitchen upside-down with so many different food preparations going on at once. We always roasted a large 20+ lb. turkey, stuffed with sage dressing.  Always. It was tradition.

Our house is too small for more than a few cold weather guests at a time, so I no longer prepare those big holiday meals in November and December.  But in the summer we can spill outside, and tomorrow family will begin piling in for our annual 4^th of July weekend here at the lake. This year I decided, for the first time ever, that a turkey was in order (although it would be eaten cold, no stuffing or gravy).  I did it just for old time’s sake.  Actually, for my sake.

“Traditions, traditions. Without our traditions, our lives would be as shaky as...as...as a fiddler on the roof!” 

– Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof