Thanksgiving

A forgotten-about Musque de Provence pumpkin vine produced this huge black beauty in our garden. After the rest of the greenery had slumped with summer past, there it was tucked in the strawberry patch underneath an espaliered cherry tree... From what I read, it is immature - these pumpkins turn a lovely warm terracotta color when they're ripe - but it roasted up nicely anyway, and a small portion became our pumpkin pie.

We had a warm kitchen full of family, friends, and dogs yesterday. We ate a turkey from Clodhopper Farm, barded with Clodhopper bacon. Mockingbird bread, Ardith Mae cheese, Hillside butter, farmers market kale and brussels sprouts, our own potatoes, and on and on...

I've been stewing in my own toxic broth of cynicism even more than usual lately. But in the last week I've been reminded: I have so many people I love... and such a bounty of beautiful, comforting, nourishing food... and the time and freedom to walk out into the woods to clear my mind whenever I need to...

I've got a whole lot of be thankful for. And I am.