It didn't occur to me until after I was taking some still life shots in the living room (too cold and yucky outside to go out with the camera, without enough interesting payoff) that they were appropriate for Thanksgiving week.
Above, turkey feathers found on the farm, with a backdrop of a Navajo rug my great grandfather Arthur and great grandmother Carrie picked up on one of their mountain hikes out West, all sitting on a 200-year-old chair that belonged through the years to my mom's family. It made me so happy to realize the significant juxtaposition of an Indian rug and turkey feathers. I love that Thanksgiving started with a feast where immigrants and their helpers, the new land's native inhabitants, broke food together that they had worked together to raise. This human reliance on the kindness of strangers touches me, and I love remembering it.
Below, Don's grandparents Marshie and Guy behind the Thanksgiving cactus. Guy was one of 10 boys. These two were strong people. I met Guy, but not Marshie. Don says of his grandpa that he was a "brusque teddy bear." Guy was 6'4", and you can see Marshie was right up there too, at 5'11".
Wednesday we will welcome our children, and some of Don's family, for a few days of feasting, gratitude, family stories and laughing, and just treasuring each other. All too soon, all we have left are feathers, travel souvenirs and photographs.
I'm thankful this week, as always, but still, I'm huffing . . .
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