A small Thanksgiving memory - stories for my grandchildren

The tryptophan fog has lifted a bit, but the leftovers live on! I trust your Thanksgiving was a joyful experience, and you were blessed by the day.

A small Thanksgiving memory from many years ago -  Grandmother Anderson, my father's mother, had a brother who lived most of his life in the remote, wilderness areas of Canada. His story, and those that he told, are subjects of blogs to come, but for now the focus is on a particular trip he and his wife made to Texas.

I was a teen when I first met Great-Uncle Virgil. I'm unsure of his age at that time, but he and his wife were at the point where the harsh Canadian winters drove them to warmer climates, so annually they came south - usually spending some time with my Grandmother and the rest of the trip exploring warm places.

One of the trips co-insided with Thanksgiving, so the family gathered, and a great feast it was. Great-Uncle Virgil brought a few quarts of Cranberries, picked from bushes in a bog near their home in Canada. Picked fresh, they made the trip to Texas in the back of the car and got processed into Cranberry sauce for the meal. Delicious.

The story is a bit vague from that point, but around the table heads began to snap back after a taste or two of the Cranberry sauce, and knowing glances were exchanged among some of  family members. I myself do not clearly remember, but the story is that my little Grandmother, who had consumed several helpings of Cranberries by that time, was just a little bit giggly.

"Why yes, there had been several nights with the temperature below freezing before we picked the Cranberries. And yes, I did seal them in quart jars before we came down? Why do you ask? And would you pass the Cranberries, please?"