Way at the top of things I’m thankful for are my parents and the fact that I was raised in a close, strong, Christian family.

Thanksgiving Day memories involve a trip to my Grandmother’s house 60 miles away. At the wartime speed limit of 35-40 mph, that meant over an hour in the car – if we didn’t have a flat tire. For several days before the holiday, Daddy rode a bike the mile or so to his work to save the gas stamps for the trip.

Early Thanksgiving Day we would load 7 people in our 1931 Chevrolet. Four older children jammed in the back seat, the baby in front with Mother and Daddy. In the rear we carried pecan and pumpkin pies or peach cobbler Mother had baked the day before.

The table would be loaded with food, as tradition suggests.  Maybe not turkey but certainly a lovely baked hen or two from Mamos’ flock. My grandmother, the aunts and my mother were outstanding cooks.  It would be hard to guess just which one made the dressing or the chocolate pie.

My grandfather said a long prayer, thanking God for everything imaginable and asking his blessings on President Roosevelt and all the armed forces not able to be home. The children, the five little Aldersons and our five cousins, ate first. Our parents remembered well their own childhoods when the grownups ate first, sat around the table for a nice long visit and smoke. Then after they were finished, the children were fed what was left. In the spirit of treating the younger generation better than they had it, our parents allowed the kids to eat first. Then we went to play while the adults lingered over the dinner table as long as they liked.

An aside: When my mother became Grammy and hosted the family holiday, she deemed everyone should eat at the same time. And we did, crowded around the dining table, on card tables, TV trays, ottomans … any flat surface available.

After the grownups had eaten, the food was covered with a clean table cloth and people would drift back and nosh whenever they took a notion. Until supper was called and we all ate leftovers that had been sitting on the table since noon.

I don’t understand why no one ever got food poisoning from this practice. Maybe the difference is because rather than being bought frozen from a large super market, just that morning the main course was alive and pecking.

Before dark, we’d kiss everyone goodbye and start home, since Friday was a workday for my dad. A special day in the life of our family – well done.

Two things I learned about after I moved to Arkansas: chocolate gravy and moving the plants inside.

I came to the Natural State in 2000 after living several years in each of the states of Texas, Oklahoma and Tennessee. In none of these places did I ever even hear of chocolate gravy, never mind experience the great popularity it enjoys in Arkansas. I quickly learned that it is an important part of any big country breakfast . . . or just as wonderful when served for brunch or “breakfast for dinner.”

A couple of weeks ago a co-worker brought us biscuits and chocolate gravy that was the best I’ve tasted so far. I thought, “Boy, this would sure taste good on ice cream.”  It’s amazing to me that as popular as this food item is, I have never seen it on any restaurant menu.

I hadn’t been in Arkansas long when I noticed the energy around the moving of the plants indoors.  This also was something new to me. That’s probably because any house plant put outside in Texas has to be hardy enough to withstand 117 degree heat in the summer.  In Oklahoma, any porch plant must be in a 50 pound planter or the wind will blow it off into the neighbor’s yard.  Tennessee has similar weather patterns to Arkansas and I’m sure there are people who allow their plants to enjoy the outdoors during the summer months. But, in Tennessee, bringing the plants back inside is not such a major event — or topic of conversation and concern. Along with freeze warnings, Little Rock weathermen remind us that it’s time to bring in the plants.

One of my first Arkansas friends had many plants that stayed outdoors during the warm months but needed protection indoors when winter approached. In fact she had so many that she didn’t have room for all of them in her house. Some of them were of generous size. They would appear for a season in her office at work, in a bare corner of the church, or fostered out to friends. Bless her heart, she’s in heaven now, where the weather is perfect all year round.

As much as I am at home in Arkansas, I haven’t yet learned to make chocolate gravy. And, I’m so grateful when a plant survives my care that I have never subjected one to the trauma of relocating.

But just because it’s not for me doesn’t mean I don’t wish for you a sumptuous breakfast and just the right spot for your outdoor/indoor tree.