PAT NEAL: A Dirty Thirties Thanksgiving

THIS IS A story of an Olympic Peninsula family celebrating Thanksgiving in the olden days.

It was back in the Depression, the Dirty Thirties. Pa had somehow got some turkey chicks. The plan was to have them for Thanksgiving, Christmas and all of our holiday dinners. It’s a good thing we didn’t know how hard raising turkeys was.

I thought a turkey for Thanksgiving would beat what we had the year before, a grouse split between the four of us. Last Christmas we had a spawned-out salmon for Christmas dinner. It was rank no matter how much salt and pepper you put on it.

When Pa showed up from town with eight turkey chicks, they were helpless little fuzz balls that had somehow survived the long trip home in a gunny sack on horseback. We put the chicks in a box full of dried moss behind the cookstove, which smelled terrific after a few days. Then we gave them all names. There were eight turkeys so we named them after Santa’s eight reindeer. The only problem was the turkeys all looked the same. We couldn’t tell one from the other.

We fed the chicks cornmeal mush, but one of them — we figured it was Dasher — looked a little peaked. Dasher didn’t make it through the first week.

Then we were down to seven turkeys.

Once the turkeys were big enough, we put them in the chicken house. They got along with the chickens at first but after a little while the turkeys got too big to stay inside all day. We had to turn them loose. That’s when the trouble started.

They spent the day out in the woods catching bugs and taking dust baths. Pa figured it would save on feed letting the turkeys find their own grub until a big bald eagle swooped in and got Prancer and then we were down to six turkeys.

The real trouble started once the turkeys got so big we couldn’t get them back in the chicken house at night. Right before sundown, they would fly up into the limbs of a big fir tree to roost. There must have been a raccoon living up in that tree. Or maybe an owl got them. Next thing you know there was a pile of feathers on the ground and Comet and Cupid were missing.

That summer, what was left of the turkeys started serenading us with their gobble-gobble call, which acted like a dinner bell to every varmint in the country. Donner disappeared.

The coyotes got Blitzen and Dancer. Then we only had only one turkey left. She was a big hen we had named Vixen. We changed her name to Lucky and locked her back in the chicken house for safe keeping. Lucky got some extra grain to fatten up before the big Thanksgiving dinner.

As Thanksgiving approached, we were excited about our big dinner. Ma wanted a sage dressing. Pa wanted oyster dressing made with some canned smoked oysters he’d been saving for a special occasion. There was quite a disagreement but us kids didn’t care what kind of dressing we had as long as we had a turkey dinner.

The morning before the big day Pa came into the house with bad news.

Something broke into the hen house and Lucky was gone. Pa left the house with a shotgun and came back long after dark with a big blue grouse for Thanksgiving dinner.

We all gave thanks at our Thanksgiving dinner.

Pa said it’s better to give thanks for what you have than feel sorry for what you don’t.

_________

Pat Neal is a Hoh River fishing and rafting guide and “wilderness gossip columnist” whose column appears here every Wednesday.

He can be reached at 360-683-9867 or by email via patneal wildlife@gmail.com.

More in Opinion

PAT NEAL: The de-extinction of the 100-pound salmon

Who says there’s no good news? Recently scientists claimed they are on… Continue reading

Derek Kilmer
POINT OF VIEW: Your neighbors are fighting for a stronger local economy

GROWING UP IN Port Angeles, the hum of mills was more than… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: Smells like spring fever

THERE MAY BE nothing more beautiful than pussywillows in the snow. Unless… Continue reading

LETTER: There he goes again

Last Wednesday, President Joe Biden announced that his administration was once again… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: To build a fire

Camping isn’t just for summer anymore. The woods, beaches and campgrounds are… Continue reading

ron allen
POINT OF VIEW: Good stewardship for future generations

IT IS A tribal saying that “Every River Has Its People” and… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: Fishing from a sinking boat

It was another tough week in the news. Steelhead fishing on the… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: The 50th anniversary of the Boldt Decision

It’s been 50 years since the Boldt Decision of Feb. 12, 1974.… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: The green crab blues

The green crab is in the news again. Scientists are tagging them… Continue reading

The monument to the October 1808 wreck of the S.V. Nikolai marks the area where a handful of survivors built a refuge after escaping from the Quileute and the Hoh. The monument at 5333 Upper Hoh Road was dedicated in 2015. (Pat Neal/For Peninsula Daily News)
PAT NEAL: Those crazy Russians are at it again

Those crazy Russians are at it again. In 2022, Russia made itself… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: Remembering a guide’s friend

Like the good Book said, “There were giants in the land.” We… Continue reading

PAT NEAL: A short history of winter

As a kid, I remember the old-timers saying, “We don’t have winters… Continue reading