by Dan Hiland

Created on: November 12, 2009

It's Wednesday, November 24,1976, and I'm 7,000 miles away from home. Standing by a small tree in the backyard of my landlord's property, I'm staring at an upside-down turkey. It's been hanging by its feet from a tree branch for some time now, and needs to be killed for Thanksgiving dinner- but I can't do it. I continue to stand there, frozen by indecision, wondering again how this Thanksgiving holiday will turn out.

As a result of an earlier decision to do something meaningful with my life, I decided in early 1975, to serve a two-year mission for the LDS Church. After turning in the requisite paperwork, the big wait began, and when the announcement arrived, I was surprised to find out that I was being sent to Argentina- more specifically the western side of the country, in the Cordoba and Mendoza provinces.

After a two-month stay in Utah for intensive language training, I left for Argentina with a group of missionaries bound first for a cheap hotel in Buenos Aires, then the Mission Home in Cordoba. Once there, we rested up before traveling by bus to our assigned towns.

Second only to jet lag (and in my case, a 17-day case of microbe-induced diarrhea), we were all dealing with culture shock. A new country, a different language (that we were required to speak every minute of every day), sub-standard sanitary conditions, and a lifestyle that many of us were still getting accustomed to (even after two months of grueling practice at the Language Training Mission) in Utah). It all added up to an overwhelming situation that took some getting used to.

And while most of us settled in within a few weeks and thoroughly enjoyed the missionary life and working with the people, holidays could still be a difficult time. Our average age was 19, and after Dear John letters or the occasional brush with local dogs and the police, the most troublesome time tended to be major holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Part of the problem was that while some holidays, like Christmas, are celebrated down there, everything seems turned around. For one thing, it is summertime during November and December- danged hot, in fact. For another, Thanksgiving is not celebrated in Argentina, most people not even aware what it is or signifies. And lastly, even if you were to celebrate it, only a few of the traditional holiday food items are available, and if so, are very expensive, or at least they were back in the day.

I'd been in the country nine months by the time November rolled around,

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