I think of my Grandma Keeling often this time of year. I associate a warm kitchen and the aromas of the holidays with her. Although she's been gone for 40 years now, I can still see her in that little kitchen at Lead Hill. Thanksgiving was always at Grandma's house. We'd make the trip down to Arkansas after Daddy would get off work. I'd sleep part of the way, waking up when we headed down the big hill that turned into their gravel driveway. You could see the porch lights and the glow of the kitchen windows shining brightly in the cold November night. The house would smell delicious as we came through the service porch, pies and broth and sage all mingled together.
Today as we celebrate with a table loaded with our favorite dishes, in a warm house with family all around us, we feel blessed and loved and her voice rings in my ears. Happy Thanksgiving!