Turkey in New Hampshire

 Speaking of Thanksgiving, did I ever tell

you about our …

Turkey in New Hampshire

Back in the early sixties, when our children were young, we had a

summer camp on a small lake in southern New Hampshire.  We spent all our

weekends there and enjoyed every moment of it.  We became very close

friends with our next door neighbor and also with a family who lived there

year round.

One year we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving together.  We were to

all bring part of the dinner.  Since we raised our own turkeys, we were the

logical ones for this.  There was a great deal of excitement as the day grew

near.  We selected a twenty-seven pound bird.  It was carefully cleaned and

stuffed with a delicious bread and pork stuffing (an old French recipe).  It

was roasted all night in a slow oven.  When we arose in the morning, the

whole house was filled with a heavenly aroma.

My husband loved a joke and he came up with a good one for this

occasion.  He told me about it.  I would have no part of it.  If he wanted to

go through with this, he was on his own.  He did, and I was quite nervous.

Time came to leave.  We packed up the car with excited children and

great smelling goodies.  We were on our way.  Forty-five minutes later, we

arrived at our destination.  Each of the four children were given some dish

of goodies to take in.  My husband took the roaster from the trunk.  That

would only be trusted to himself.  He announced his coming with great

shouts of “Clear the way.  Make room on the table.”

By the time he reached the table, there were seventeen hungry people,

drooling.  He sat down the roaster, and with an “AH HA”, he lifted the

cover.  He let out a sigh, “It shrunk!” the “aw’s” went right around the table.

In this big pan, surrounded with drippings for gravy, was a beautifully

browned, stuffed Cornish Hen.  The joke had its moment.  My oldest son

entered with the real turkey in time to rescue his father.  Don’t think any of

us will ever forget that Thanksgiving.