Thanksgiving post mortem

Really, the less said about our trip to South Dakota, the better. But, you know me, I can't leave well enough alone. Allow me to enumerate:

1. We drove, round trip, for fifteen hours
That's a lot of time in the car for any reason. John and I managed nicely. When he drove, I read a book—Bagman, Jay MacLarty's second installment featuring courier Simon Leonidovich—aloud. When he napped, I drove and cranked tunes he can't stand—pop-y, bridge-rich numbers that you feel in your core and make you glad to be alive. Meanwhile, the leetle boys gorged themselves on Nintendo DS games and M&Ms, for the duration. As far as spending time in the car with an eight- and five point five-year-old go, best trip ever.

2. Both kids got sick
It's been a long time since the stress of travel has manifested itself as illness in either son so I don't think it was that. Winston, who confidently ordered a bison burger at Al's Oasis in Chamberlain, So Dak, was rewarded, around midnight, by food poisoning. I have no proof it was the burger, but Al's is pretty scary and the time frame between eating and his barfing episode fit. The next morning, Simon had diarrhea and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. All of which was really just a prelude to spending "quality" time with my family.

3. We were unceremoniously deserted each day
Each morning , my father and brother Nik would take off and spend the day hunting. My mother would dutifully make them lunch and drive it out the fields. No one ever asked John, who had specifically requested coming to Winner so that he could see the "gorgeous" grasslands about which my brothers rave, if he'd like to accompany them. Fortunately, John asked if he could go with them, even though he didn't intend to hunt. Some provision was made. Granted, my family stands on no ceremony whatsoever, still I think it was colossally rude, especially given the distance we'd traveled to see my family.

4. My mother never ceases to trample
My mother who is sixty-five, has the emotional maturity and mental acuity of a teenager. Don't bother to tell her the insensitive comment she has just made about your weight or being a working mother or about indigenous peoples anywhere has hurt your feelings because she doesn't care. She's a fiercely disturbing lock-step conservative. I'm talking beyond party identification as a Republican to a certifiable, lunatic-fringe neocon. Goddess, help us. Spending any amount of time with her is a challenge and a trial. How I wish that wasn't so, but there you have it. She's like a bull, plowing her way through life, horns down. If I had any last wish, it would be to improve my relationship with her, but she, unbelievably, doesn't see any problem. Always makes me wonder what her relationship with her mother was like, if she even had one.

5. The town of Winner is depressing
Simon, who is only eight years old and a sharp observer, calls it an "elderly town. " He elaborates by saying only old people live there, i.e., his grandparents, but by which he means, it's a town that time forgot. It looks and feels old, rundown, sad.

6. Rehashing hurts
I had the privilege of listening to John detail every stinking moment of our trip as we pulled out of Winner, by now a ritual with us whenever we visit my parents. It's all true, but stings to hear nonetheless.

Sadly, there is no point in telling them what a disaster I found this whole trip to be since they'd just see it as further evidence that I'm an angry, raging lunatic when it comes to my family. They really push that unconditional-love bit too far.

Lesson: next year when we receive that beautiful invitation to give thanks with our friends, we accept.

There were a few highlights:


We ate well. Nik sliced up some smoked pheasants he'd made and whipped up a snack of South Dakota rumaki (pheasant hearts and water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, fried, and floated in maple syrup). The twice-baked sweet potatoes and the cornbread stuffing that accompanied our Thanksgiving turkeys (deep-fried, pictured above, and smoked) were outstanding and may find their ways back onto a future holiday menu. And, I astonished even myself by whipping up a shepherd's pie with leftover turkey and mashed potatoes on Friday night.


My father did eventually give us a tour of his land—sort of a Great Plains safari. Pictured above is a view of nearly 400 acres—yes, about as far as the eye can see. You can't help but think about how vast this country is when you're out of a population center, standing on prairie lands, with nothing but blue skies ahead. At this point on the map, we're about 40 miles from the Badlands, and occasionally you'll see a butte, giving a taste of changing topography. Who sez the Midwest is flat? Also, on this piece of land, you'll see buffalo wallows, a depression created by buffalo herds using the earth as nature's scratching post. We saw a coyote, a pair of deer (buck and doe), countless pheasant, a turkey flock, and a fox—eat your heart out Jim Fowler.



I was able to do some reading and work on a knitting project I started last year. MOST IMPORTANT: I had the supreme luxury of time with my handsome husband and beautiful, funny boys—and you can't take that away from me. Here Jedi knights do battle with tumbleweeds.