I never really understood the phrase "amber waves of grain." from America the Beautiful until I moved to the Alberta, Canada and lived on the Prairies. I grew up along the north-eastern shores of Lake Superior at the edge of the Canadian Shield where large scale farming was not an industry.
I moved to Alberta to pursue my chosen profession; journalism. I was driving to cover an assignment one fine fall day and I noticed a wheat field along the road. Well several actually. Acres of golden wheat, gently undulating waves as they were caressed by a fall breeze. I thought, "Gee, that looks just like the waves on Lake Superior..."
Aha... Now I understand.
As I am writing this blog entry I am preparing to celebrate our Thanksgiving. Yup, today is Canadian Turkey Day. A day when we recount our blessings and are thankful for what God has provided for us for the coming year.
We will be sitting down to our traditional turkey dinner. The meal consists of traditional family dishes that bring back a harvest of memories. The tomato aspic will remind me of Nanny Hagen. She had to have that at every holiday meal. along with the mashed potatoes and gravy we will have perogies and cabbage rolls, part of my Ukrainian heritage through my father's side. My son will eat his fill of these two dishes as well as steal as much raw dressing as he can get his hands on before I put it into the turkey and the oven.
The pies are already in the oven. Pumpkin, which is dad's favorite. My daughter Kim will have a slice of homemade chocolate pie. For my wife cherry or pumpkin will do.
This thanksgiving is also a bittersweet one. Dad has Alzheimer's disease. He probably won't remember how good the turkey was or that he even had a piece of his favorite pie 10 minutes after he has finished eating it. Every day my family loses a little bit more of him as this disease slowly erases who he was.
So I harvest my memories of how he used to be. How he could fix almost anything. Him pushing me on a log across the Agawa River on a cub scout camping trip when I was ten. Us sitting in a boat for hours, trolling along the eastern shore of Lake Seymo, attempting to entice the trout. to bite on our lures.
Bouncing around in his bush buggy made from old Volkswagons as he took it places no respectful 4x4 or ATV would dare to traverse. The bush tea he would make using a juice can he modified into a kettle when we came ashore for lunch.
Then there was roofing the house, climbing down a well to dig it deeper because the water level dropped. There was working with him when he went to wire a house. Working on cars in the garage or arguing over politics.
I find that I am selective about my harvest. Not all the memories are good ones. But then life is not all fun and sunshine.
But as gather with my family this year, we plant more memories for furture harvests. This year was the warmest Thanksgiving in my memory. So we decide to have a Thanksgiving picnic. Mixed blessings; a rich harvest.
Another Aha moment.
