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Life in the southern states is filled with many family traditions. Just like others in the lower 48 states, southerners take pride in how their turkey is presented on Thanksgiving day. My mother was the traditionalist, and her concept of how Thanksgiving dinner was to be presented was entirely left up to her standards. Even as a young boy, Thanksgiving was a fixation around the holidays in our home. The entire process leaves me with many fond memories of Thanksgivings of past years, and I treasure those memories.

Being a kid of five, I hung to my mothers shadow as she made her grocery list. She would do the planning well in advance so that she would have all the necessary items on hand for the family dinner. She was a stickler for things being perfect. She never bought a store bought turkey, and living on a farm we raised many of our own meat sources. Chickens, pigs and yes the proverbial turkey.

The family hen houses and chicken yard were a busy place during holidays and especially Sundays around our house. No need to ask what we were having for Sunday dinner, because it was always chicken. Fried chicken, smothered chicken and gravy, chicken and dumplings were just some of the meals that were varied for Sunday dinners. To have turkey was a special treat, but not without exceptions. I took special pride in the turkeys in the chicken yard, because I raised them from hatch lings to maturity. I even named a few of them and they would follow me around the chicken yard when I fed them.

One turkey named Giblet was my prize turkey, and he had survived three Thanksgivings in a row. I wondered if he would survive this years selection by mother. I stood close by her side and watched her intently as she stood there with her hand under her chin looking out over the chicken yard. Giblet knew something was up and would stand behind other turkeys in the yard, thinking he would not be noticed. It was funny watching the cat and mouse game he would play with mother as she walked through the turkeys trying to make her selection.

When it was time to choose the dinner turkey, mother would hold her apron out wide to herd the turkeys to one corner of the fenced in chicken yard. You could see the terror in the big birds eyes as mother corralled her pick. The turkeys would drop the wings down and fan their tails to ward off an attack, but mother was fearless. At first it looked as if Giblet was done for as mother cornered three turkeys of good size into a place. Giblet was standing with all ferocity with his tail against the fence. Mother made a quick grab for his head, but Giblet jumped forward and knocked mother down to escape her grasp. The next turkey was not so fortunate, and before it could even make a noise mother had broke it's neck.

The chicken yard was loud with noise of cackling chickens and gobbling turkeys. The turkeys were extremely loud. It was like they were saying farewell to a lost friend. Mother and I headed for the gate as Giblet slowly walked behind us. His head hung low to the ground as if he were taunting mother for another shot at the title. Mother turned to latch the gate and I heard her say something to Giblet. "You are not out of the woods yet, Christmas is right around the corner." I could only laugh to myself as I watched mother walk away carrying the turkey. Her dress and apron muddy from the fight she had with Giblet. My friend was truly a warrior to take on mother.

Learn more about this author, Rex Coker.
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