It was Thanksgiving, 1957. Mama and my three sisters were busy in the kitchen and dining room. They were cooking all the usual holiday fixings except turkey. This year, mama had bought a huge hen she wanted to bake, along with a smoked ham and a chuck roast. She said the hen would be better than a turkey and not as dry, plus she pointed out we had other meats too. She was right about those hens. I had eaten her baked hens before and they were fantastic. I could smell all the delicious aromas floating around in the house as I was getting dressed. Cornbread dressing, potato salad, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, candied yams, carrots, turnip greens with roots and neck bones, corn on the cob, dinner rolls, pecan pie, banana pudding, chocolate cake, chocolate pie were on the menu along with that fat hen, ham and chuck roast with gravy and rice.
I was an excited 11 year old boy ready to go rabbit hunting with the men in my family. My two brother-in-laws and a few of their pals, and my two older brothers were securing the guns, ammo and other hunting essentials in the cars. I was being instructed on what to do—do not point the shotgun at anyone-period. Keep the gun pointed downward towards the ground until ready to shoot, be sure the safety was on until ready to fire and be make sure no one was in the line of fire, etc. This was my first hunting trip with them, so they wanted to be sure I did not endanger anyone, me included.
Our car ride took about 30 minutes outside of town, down Highway 61 South. The hunting site was on a relatively flat ridge area with few trees and tall grass to the east of the roadway. It was near a community called Letourneau. The men had checked it out beforehand and decided it should be a prime spot for rabbit hunting. It was cold, partly sunny, and perfect weather for hunting rabbits.
After some last minute instructions and safety checks, we formed a line a few feet apart from each other and began the walk through the tall grass. We walked and scanned the area in front of us for rabbits. Either the rabbits had gone to visit other family members or were on someone’s dinner plate, because we did not see a single rabbit. We did not give up easily, though. We scoured that entire ridge for any signs of legal game but came up empty-handed.
Disappointed, we reluctantly called it a day and turned our attention to mama’s Thanksgiving spread. That picked our spirits back up, because we knew, a warm house and enough delicious food to feed an army was waiting for us upon our return. We trudged back to the vehicles, loaded up our gear and headed north toward home. I think we were all hungry because all we talked about was the food the women folk were busy preparing when we left a few hours before.
Sure enough, all the food was ready and the table was adorned with casseroles, ham, roast, corn and more. We did not have smartphones back in those days to call to tell them we were on the way back, yet mama had a knack for guessing when we would be home. Us men made quick work of securing the guns and other equipment. As the youngest male, I had to wait until the adult men had cleaned up before I could wash my hands.
It was time to eat, so we all gathered around the dining room table, offered a prayer of thanksgiving and began to claim a spot to eat at the table. We didn’t have enough chairs for all of us. Heck, the table wasn’t big enough to seat all of us anyway, but I managed to grab a place. But, something was missing….the baked hen. I asked mama about it. She said it was almost done, as it was the last thing to be baked. She wanted it hot and fresh out of the oven for us. I busied myself with cornbread dressing; green bean casserole and some ham. I was not disappointed. All the food was fantastic. The conversations and laughter were joyful and playful. I loved Thanksgiving and Christmas time. There was a spirit of love, joy and happiness in the air. It was as if God had commanded our hearts and souls to be still and know that He was the God of Peace and Love.
Before I could finish my first helping, mama came from the kitchen with the biggest platter we had. A big, beautifully baked hen was resting on top. It was perfectly baked to a golden brown color. She made a place for it on the table and began to carve it up. I remember being the first one to retrieve a piece….a big fat leg. Turkey legs. Chicken legs. Frog legs. Everyone knew I loved them, so they graciously indulged me. Being a spoiled kid had its advantages at times except when cleaning up.
My mouth was watering in anticipation of tasting that bird. I grabbed that leg and took a bite. I pulled a piece from the bone, and began to chew. And chew and chew. But my teeth kept springing back. The meat was still intact.
“Mama”, I asked, “why is the hen like rubber?”
Poor mama. We were all shocked. A rubber hen was totally unexpected. The chatter began. Was it over cooked? Under cooked? Lack of moisture? Was the hen to blame? None of us could agree on why the hen was rubbery. That helped mama feel better, knowing it wasn’t her fault. As it turned out, the hen enhanced the presentation of the other foods on the table even though it wasn’t edible. After the initial embarrassment, mama, recovered and we continued to celebrate Thanksgiving with wonderful food ( the pecan pie was divine), family, friends and some laughs about the the rubber hen.
Over the many holidays I have celebrated since then, the rubber hen has always been a fun yarn to tell. It was not so much the rubber hen story, as funny as it became over the years. It was the memories we all made 64 Thanksgiving’s ago. Out of all the people gathered together in our home in 1957, only myself and an older sister are left. This year, like many past, I will relive that long ago day again, if only for a few moments, here and there. In my mind and heart, I will spend time with them laughing, talking, eating and basking in the glow, the sensations, and vibes of those good times.
Thanksgiving is not only to praise God for His provision and blessings in the here and now. I believe the Good Lord wants us to give thanksgiving praise for His past years of grace and love, to include the people He put in our lives to shepherd, guide and love us. So when you celebrate this Thanksgiving don’t forget to thank God for the others who once sat around the table and broke bread with you. They were a blessing then. Bring them to mind and enjoy the warmth and joy those memories will provide you today.
They may be gone but the blessings those remembrances can give you will never be.
God Bless you and God Bless America.
Great story.