Two days before Thanksgiving in the 1950s, Mom cut up a turkey and baked it in the oven. She felt the turkey breast became unnecessarily dry when a bird was roasted whole.
Mom packaged and stored the turkey and gravy in our small refrigerator. She now had time to focus on giblets, dressing, salads, vegetables, and pies. We stored most of these side dishes on the big table on the back porch—it was not heated. Wisconsin weather made it an ideal cooler.
Our family had many reasons to be thankful. However, our herd of Holsteins and deer hunting season had to fit into the holiday schedule. Deer season opened the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Dad and my brother David hunted on our forty acres in the bluffs.
When the guys returned from hunting, we enjoyed our special meal before they dressed in farm clothes for chores. They helped themselves to leftovers and pie after milking cows. The feast fed our family of six and Grandma Hilda and Grandpa Louie for several days.
Thanksgiving took on new meaning after my brother Allen began his freshman year at Northwestern Prep in Watertown, WI, over 80 miles southeast of North Freedom. He was preparing to enter the seminary to become a Lutheran pastor. Allen lived on campus during the school year. He told our parents that some of his professors were deer hunters and asked if the men could hunt with my family. Dad approved
1963 was the first year Thanksgiving came early. Mom took it as a chance to show off her cooking skills. I was 16 and missed my younger brother’s quick, dry humor as I dusted our farmhouse spotless and washed the fancy glasses in the wall cupboards. Allen and I had done these tasks together in the past. My brother Randy was only six, too young to take Allen’s place.
Mom prepared two turkeys. She would not run out of food. The Horror!
I didn’t know what to expect. Would the men wear suits and ties? A professor holding a gun seemed incongruous.
The sun was low in the west when two cars crunched in the driveway late Friday afternoon—the country was still on standard time. I peeked out to see Allen and the men, who dressed like regular guys. I could not have picked them out of a crowd. Dad informally offered our guests wine or a beer before he and David went to the barn for chores.
The long, wide dining table, stretched to the max with two extra leaves, would barely hold the meat, dressing, and side dishes. Mom also roasted the choicest piece of beef we had just butchered in case some professors preferred red meat. With Randy’s help, I set our best china on white linen tablecloths over the padded boards we used to protect the dark wood tabletop.
While the professors were blessing our food, I glanced at Allen, wondering if he thought our efforts were satisfactory. His eyes were closed in thanksgiving, but his subtle smile indicated approval. He and I served coffee and milk, warning the men it was whole milk from our cows with the cream poured off and might taste different than store-bought. We explained that the cholesterol in raw milk is ‘good’ cholesterol, HDL. As serving bowls emptied, we refilled them from the large containers on the porch until the men begged us to stop.
Allen and I cleared the table and served pumpkin and pecan pie. A mound of cream whipped to perfection from what we poured off our raw milk topped each piece. The professors may have been stuffed from dinner, but they polished off their pie.
Dad and David returned from the barn as the men left for the accommodations my grandparents had arranged. “Thank you” and “Goodbye” quickly turned to “We’ll see you in the morning” because it would be a short night.
Work in the kitchen was ongoing. Allen and I repackaged salads and vegetables. We made turkey sandwiches and cut pans of bars. There were also bread dough pancakes, bread raised once, then patted down in a frypan and toasted on both sides over the gas stove. We cut it like a pie, sliced the wedges, and spread them with butter and a swipe of homemade strawberry jam. We put everything in containers to fit in the metal cooler. Mom would pack it in the wee hours of the morning for the men to take to the woods.
* * *
The professors hunted until dark and dealt with their deer before they returned to our farmhouse on Saturday evening. There, they found the table set and covered with tasty dishes just like the night before, and we repeated the entire process.
Our family was thankful we had a chance to meet Allen’s professors. Their visit added dimension to our everyday life in North Freedom. They expressed their delight at the opportunity to meet us and hunt with our family. Mom graciously accepted their generous compliments concerning the food she served.
It was now hard to imagine these men transforming from deer hunters to instructors.
The professors’ hunting trips became an annual event. Several of their sons joined the group. They continued to hunt on our land after Allen left Watertown to attend the seminary in Mequon, Wisconsin. One of the professor’s sons also became a Lutheran pastor. He often mentions to Allen the good hunting and good food he enjoyed in North Freedom.
Leave a Reply