Posted by on Oct 10, 2013 in Blog | Comments Off on thanksgiving


Thanksgiving is one of my favourite holidays.  I typically start my autumnal yearning somewhere in the midst of August, and am happily dusting off my boots and woolens with the first wave of cool-weather keeners.  For me, fall and Thanksgiving and family are all intrinsically linked.

I remember long Sunday walks with my parents, sister and dog in the conservation area, meandering for hours in the trees of rust and crimson, by swollen rivers, through damp fallen leaves.  Then there were the apple picking expeditions, the back of the old Volvo station wagon slung low, pregnant with loads of crunchy Macintosh, our faces flushed from climbing among the snarled, knuckled branches.  Fall was the resurrection of bread baking, the smell of mulling cider on the stove, of digging into the first pumpkin pie of the season.

This is the time of year when I find myself yearning to create these deep seasonal associations with my own son.  To some extent, it’s already begun.  He loves going to school knowing that when it’s cool outside, there may be a fire waiting for him when he gets home, he says the night sky looks like Christmas, and he claims to love pumpkin pie more than cupcakes.  We’re on the right track.  More than anything, though, I want him to feel that each season ushers in its own unique kind of magic.  And I want a lot of that magic to be tied up in feelings of familial love, rootedness and belonging.

This thanksgiving I’m reflecting upon my own particular fortune, grateful for having been raised in a family that treasured itself, that melded together nature and food and love into something that manifested itself in the belief that life is warm and extraordinary and filled with everyday specialness worth noticing and celebrating.  I thank my family for the feelings conjured when I breathe in the scent of pine needles baking in the sun, when I find a special rock at the beach, when the sky darkens for a thunderstorm, when I smell onions cooking, when the first snow falls.  I thank them for investing in our kinship rituals, both quotidian and festive, and for teaching me that this is the yarn that knits a family together.



All content by Lisa Veronese. Please do not publish or copy my material without my consent.