“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.” ~ W. T. Purkiser
There are mounds of supplies in our front hallway waiting to be transported up to our ranch for Thanksgiving -- everything from paper lanterns to papertowels to peanut butter cups -- and the real shopping has not yet begun, nor has the real cooking. It is hard to imagine how all of these items combined will turn into a warm, welcoming feast by next Thursday.
Then, of course, there are the wildcards that will be thrown in, which are inherent to living on a remote ranch. Will someone hit a phone pole in Carmel, 150 miles away, and our electricity go out? Will the well go out? Will the store have actually reserved our two turkeys, as promised? Will people be wondering why they have traveled to the middle of nowhere for dinner? It's going to be in the 20s at night; will the people staying in the Wine Barn Bunk House be warm enough?
Added to this are manmade variables, how will the smoked turkey taste? Will the stuffing be more moist this year? Will I have enough drippings for gravy? Will we forget the one turkey on the rotisserie or the other in the smoker? We recall to mind the year the propane ran out in the grill and having to microwave the turkey and guests having to wait so long, while continuing to drink, that a near riot broke out. What if the wild boar tear up the place the night before Thanksgiving?
What if? What if? What if? The mind can, like the wild boar, run rampant. I begin to think about why we got the ranch in the first place, for the chance to actually decompress and let our breath out from living in Los Angeles; for the chance to look to the West upon an expansive, empty horizon, with nothing in the way to obscure beautiful sunsets; for the chance of an adventure of every kind, from growing our own food to attending local fairs and meeting people in the community to having to deal with some pretty scary critters and the realization that we had to learn to protect ourselves; for the chance to learn new things, like horseback riding; for the chance to have family gatherings and share our dream with as many people as we can.
So every time there is a near head-exploding moment, I remember what it was like to taste the first fig jam I made from a tree we planted; what it was like to taste our first grape jelly made by us from grapes we planted; what it was like to taste the first olives that we spent 11 months brining that came from trees we planted; what it was like to taste the first steaks that came from beef that grazed on our property; what it was like to taste that first piece of bread dipped in olive oil that we pressed, that came from trees we planted.
We are thankful to have such a bounty and to be able to share it and our dream with others. That is what Thanksgiving is all about, not papertowels and peanut butter cups. Sharing our ranch, our home, our barn, our good fortune with others is the true measure of our Thanksgiving.
I'll be posting some of our favorite rancho recipes as I'm cooking them, and what worked and what didn't, but in the end, it will all have worked in one way or another, because we'll make it work by remembering what's really important.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
The Ranch Manager
Then, of course, there are the wildcards that will be thrown in, which are inherent to living on a remote ranch. Will someone hit a phone pole in Carmel, 150 miles away, and our electricity go out? Will the well go out? Will the store have actually reserved our two turkeys, as promised? Will people be wondering why they have traveled to the middle of nowhere for dinner? It's going to be in the 20s at night; will the people staying in the Wine Barn Bunk House be warm enough?
Added to this are manmade variables, how will the smoked turkey taste? Will the stuffing be more moist this year? Will I have enough drippings for gravy? Will we forget the one turkey on the rotisserie or the other in the smoker? We recall to mind the year the propane ran out in the grill and having to microwave the turkey and guests having to wait so long, while continuing to drink, that a near riot broke out. What if the wild boar tear up the place the night before Thanksgiving?
What if? What if? What if? The mind can, like the wild boar, run rampant. I begin to think about why we got the ranch in the first place, for the chance to actually decompress and let our breath out from living in Los Angeles; for the chance to look to the West upon an expansive, empty horizon, with nothing in the way to obscure beautiful sunsets; for the chance of an adventure of every kind, from growing our own food to attending local fairs and meeting people in the community to having to deal with some pretty scary critters and the realization that we had to learn to protect ourselves; for the chance to learn new things, like horseback riding; for the chance to have family gatherings and share our dream with as many people as we can.
So every time there is a near head-exploding moment, I remember what it was like to taste the first fig jam I made from a tree we planted; what it was like to taste our first grape jelly made by us from grapes we planted; what it was like to taste the first olives that we spent 11 months brining that came from trees we planted; what it was like to taste the first steaks that came from beef that grazed on our property; what it was like to taste that first piece of bread dipped in olive oil that we pressed, that came from trees we planted.
We are thankful to have such a bounty and to be able to share it and our dream with others. That is what Thanksgiving is all about, not papertowels and peanut butter cups. Sharing our ranch, our home, our barn, our good fortune with others is the true measure of our Thanksgiving.
I'll be posting some of our favorite rancho recipes as I'm cooking them, and what worked and what didn't, but in the end, it will all have worked in one way or another, because we'll make it work by remembering what's really important.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
The Ranch Manager
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