Bean and I spent the day outdoors under wintry skies. Alternately stacking wood and lying supine, our faces soaking up sunlight as it shone through torn clouds. Bean loves to lie like this, head to head with me, watching the clouds pass. The trees at the edge of the meadow made a crown of twigs at the periphery of our sight. Then we rolled down the hill, listening to crows call overhead.
Later, when we were hungry, I brought out a thermos of milk, graham crackers, peanut butter and honeycomb and we made sticky sandwiches and ate them on the grass. Bean tiped his head all the way back to drink from the tall flask, milk dribbling down his chin; a mustach of white spreading wide with his grin.
We’re hosting thanksgiving this coming week, and Bean and I dragged fallen branches from the woods and heaped them high in the upper meadow—for a bonfire with friends and family gathered round. DH does most of the cooking around our house—because he has that innate sense of which flavors go together, and can work calmly in the kitchen under pressure, without a recipe. I’m content to be the sous chef, watching him wield knives.
What are you planning for thanksgiving? Any good recipes or traditions to share?