Thanksgiving

Wednesday we drove down to my parents' and luxuriated in idleness for a while. Ben was sick and napped on the couch. Poor guy; it seems like anytime he gets a long weekend off he gets sick. But instead of staying at home and sleeping all day he decided to be a good sport and do that at Mom and Dad's. While he slept and Henry played I made a pumpkin cheesecake, my contribution to the Thanksgiving feast. Then Dad and Beth made a huge vat of fudge (literally there was thirty-something pounds of it) and once it was poured out into cookie sheets to set, all the kids got a spoon and went to town on the ginormous pot. I also got to hang out and chat with Mom and Maggie. And I managed to read Little House in the Big Woods.

I was going to read Little House on the Prairie the next day, but Ben and I ended up going shooting in the woods instead. There next to a fallen tree two pumpkins were summarily dispatched, as well as several cans formerly containing ingredients to various pies made that morning. As we were walking back to the house through the woods we came out by the pond and saw Dad yanking a beaver lodge out with his tractor and this rusty old hinged claw-thingy on a rope. So we decided to lend a hand and manned the big kayak and helped insofar as we were able. Mostly we splashed stinky cold water all over ourselves trying to tow branches away from the island the beaver invaded to the shore where Dad was making a huge pile of sticks he'd already dislodged. Had the beavers not chewed down just about every tree around the pond and wrecked the island I'd probably have felt a little sorry for them. Dad suggested a beaver hunt for that night, and as tempted as I was to camp out at night in a kayak waiting for beavers to sneak out of the broken lodge, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to shoot one. Killing pumpkins is one thing, beavers are too dang cute. I'd feel way too guilty. I think it'd be fun to stalk them, though. Before our little beaver lodge demolition was over Ben had smacked me in the head with his paddle and my shirt was covered in stinky pond scum and mud (and probably beaver poo). So I had just enough time to wash up change back into my clothes from Wednesday and then help Mom make mashed potatoes. Henry, the little gourmand, refused to eat anything but the rolls Beth made. He did try a little bit of pumpkin pie and surprise, surprise, he didn't like it. Weirdo.

All in all, a good Thanksgiving.