"It is not Thanksgiving" by Melanie Harless + Chocolate Chess Pie

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During the second half of my college career, I worked for my university's Orientation Program, helping new students and their parents navigate the world of academic requirements, signing up for courses, and leading campus tours. It was one of the best jobs I've ever had. Although I spent a majority of my time working with students and giving academic requirement presentations, another portion of my role (and the part I secretly loved most) was spent reassuring parents that their fledgling freshmen would be fine. Better than fine, in fact.

They would ask about parties, about campus clubs, about safety, about living in the dorms. But what they were really asking was if their relationship would hold steady. They wanted to know their sons and daughters wouldn't be lost forever. I often shared stories about how my own relationship with my parents changed since arriving, and when a look over concern washed over their face during the parents-only cocktail hour, I always told them the same thing: Trust the job you've done.

The college years are a time when everything changes. Not only do relationships with old friends fade away as you navigate the waters with new ones, but the relationship with your parents changes, too. It's a very good thing when this happens, but the transition takes time. The shift from becoming a parent to becoming a friend is not always swift, and this is the narrative we enter when reading today's poem. 

It is not Thanksgiving

by Melanie Harless

She is coming home.
I’ll make her favorite foods,
turkey croquettes,
hash brown casserole,
homemade rolls, and
two chocolate pies,
an extra for the next day.
Croquettes are for leftover turkey
but it is not Thanksgiving,
so there are no leftovers.
Hard to find fresh turkey in July
but I buy a breast to cook
so that I have turkey to grind
and shape into little balls.
With flour on my clothes
and on my nose,
I set the rolls
on the counter to rise.
I assemble the casserole
to be oven ready.
It is a hot day
for stirring chocolate
at the stove, but soon
it will be thick and bubbly
ready to fill the waiting crusts.
Her flight gets in at five
I will finish the meal
after I pick her up.
It is not Thanksgiving
but time to give thanks.
My daughter is coming home.

Poem printed with permission from the author. Find a sampling of Melanie's nonfiction here and here. 

The first summer home from college is usually a challenging one. There are mixed emotions brought on by the pull to spend time with family yet also appear independent, and the desire to reconnect with high school friends amidst fears we've already changed too much to keep our relationships in tact through graduation. (Or maybe that was just me.)

But it is July, clearly not the ideal time to be basting a turkey, but a mother is preparing a feast anyway. The details are touching. We vividly see her rushing from counter to stove, stirring chocolate and setting rolls on the counter to rise. The imagery serves as a great reminder that although Thanksgiving only occurs once per year, every day is an opportunity to be thankful and reflect on what we're grateful for. In this case, a daughter's homecoming. In the spirit of the season, and with Christmas and New Year's around the corner, I hope you'll do what the mother in this poem does, and celebrate with your favorite foods, surrounded by those you love.

CHOCOLATE CHESS PIE

I've always been hesitant to make pie dough. Work quickly! Be sure your water is ice cold! Chill the flour! Use your hands! Use a food processor! It's enough to make a reluctant baker nervous and pale. But then I sat down and read and reread Deb's instructions over at Smitten Kitchen. I felt my confidence boost, and this time around, my dough was soft and supple, translucent with butter. I have a feeling this might become more of a habit.

Adapted from Add a Pinch

1 1/4 granulated sugar
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
4 tablespoons butter, melted
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 9-inch unbaked pie crust (for crust, see Smitten Kitchen's all-butter recipe, and her tips for rolling out the dough)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Add the sugar and cocoa to the bowl of a KitchenAid mixer and whisk on low speed to combine. Pour melted butter into the bowl and beat on high speed. Lightly beat the eggs, then add them, along with the vanilla, and mix on high speed for 2-3 minutes until the filling is whipped and has lightened in color (it will also double in size). 

Pour the filling into your pie shell and bake for 35-40 minutes. The pie is done when the center is a bit soft (it will continue to set as it cools). Let sit on a wire rack for at least 1 hour before serving.

Literary City Guides: DC and The Berkshires

The first time I visited Washington, DC was the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. Our family took an expansive American history tour of the east coast, stopping in places like Boston, Philadelphia, and Virginia. I've since been back several more times, both for work and pleasure, and wish I'd had access to this city guide before my visit last April! Our nations capital has a rich literary history (it was once the home of Langston Hughes), and Renee Sklarew shows us the restaurants, museums, and even cemeteries that you won't want to miss.

A year after my first visit to DC, I flew to Boston over Thanksgiving weekend to visit a friend attending Williams College. We took a bus from Boston to the Williams campus in the Berkshires, and I spent a couple of crisp fall days drinking coffee on Spring Street and exploring the area, once home to Edith Wharton. Julie Turner is a frequent visitor, and knows the best places to visit, including the house where Herman Melville wrote Moby Dick.

Stop by to welcome the two newest guides to the collection! 

Living With Poetry: The Keepers of Language

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During my one free day in New York this past October, I went for a walk.

It was a long walk, straight down Fifth Avenue from 49th Street to Washington Square Park near NYU. I needed the air, and the two mile stroll in crisp but not too cold weather helped me let go of a month that I called from the beginning "the month to get through." October wore me down, and this walk was the start of an approximately two-week process of letting go and reconnecting with myself. 

I was on my way to meet a friend. Fellow literary food blogger Nicole Villeneuve from Paper and Salt happens to live in New York, and we planned to attend a poetry reading and go to dinner. which meant I had several hours to roam. Along the way I stopped at the New York Public Library. Have you been? It's such a charming place, and before I wrapped my scarf around my neck again, decided to buy a copy of Annie Dillard's The Writing Life from the bookstore. A coffee shop was in my future, and I thought this slim meditation on writing would be a perfect accompaniment to my cup of tea.

Tucked in a corner table at Think Coffee with a hot mug of chamomile steeping, I read. I underlined a lot of the book, and one passage in particular provided a gentle reminder that writing isn't a race. Sometimes it's an easy fact to forget.

“Out of a human population on earth of four and a half billion, perhaps twenty people can write a book in a year. Some people lift cars, too. Some people enter week-long sled-dog races, go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, fly planes through the Arc de Triomphe. Some people feel no pain in childbirth. Some people eat cars. There is no call to take human extremes as norms.” 
― Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

With that, I closed the book. The sun had set, and I walked a few blocks over to the Skirball Center. It happened to be the weekend of the Academy of American Poets annual conference, and it felt serendipitous that the chancellor's reading was held on my one free evening in the city. The reading was filled with words from some of the country's biggest names in poetry, like Edward Hirsch and one of my personal favorites, Jane Hirshfield. I couldn't have been happier.

Next, we dined at The Smile, a rustic little cafe a few blocks away and shared a ricotta crostini with saffron cauliflower that I thought about for three days. On my flight the next morning, I considered all the meals I shared in New York, and the idea of bringing home recipes as souvenirs. I used to buy postcards and key chains, but now whenever I travel, I'm making notes for what I want to recreate in my kitchen upon returning home.

If you'd like to know more about this, visit Life & Thyme. I recently contributed an essay to this lovely site, and am sharing a recipe for spicy tomato soup, too. 

Before the reading began, the woman introducing the event said that "poets are the keepers of language." They give meaning to the mundane and provide words for the unspeakable. I was practically giddy, sitting in a room full of people who love poetry, and count it as an hour well spent. Poetry is restorative. The way a massage or dip in the hot springs relaxes your body, poetry does the same work for your soul.