Thursday was Thanksgiving and it is the first time I've spent the holiday away from family. Even when I was studying at Oxford, my intrepid grandmother flew across the Big Pond to keep me company and to prepare a Thanksgiving meal in the Jones family's kitchen in Cheltenham. And in California, an easy drive down to San Diego brought my to Thanksgiving at Papa and Grandma Elizabeth's house, with all my aunts, uncles, and baby cousins. And, of course, throughout childhood, Thanksgivings were in our homey dining room or on the magnificent porch dining room at the mountain house in North Carolina. To me, it's precious to have those varied memories of the holiday, with the diversity of settings: the smokey, autumnal smells in England; the salty spray in La Jolla during a post-meal walk on the ocean; the balmy November breeze flowing into our home in Lake Wales; and the crisp, woodsy feeling of being in the mountains in North Carolina. But despite the variety, continuity existed in the familial ties present in each version of the holiday.
I was missing all sections of my family Thursday. But, as I sat at the kitchen table here in Sicily with Fiona, with a nontraditional shepherds pie (due to the dearth of turkeys in Sicily), I realized I was equally grateful today...to share a meal with someone I already care about a lot in a place in which God is blessing me everyday. (The guests and Fabrizia and Costanza were all gone...Fiona and I had the place to ourself).
I was missing all sections of my family Thursday. But, as I sat at the kitchen table here in Sicily with Fiona, with a nontraditional shepherds pie (due to the dearth of turkeys in Sicily), I realized I was equally grateful today...to share a meal with someone I already care about a lot in a place in which God is blessing me everyday. (The guests and Fabrizia and Costanza were all gone...Fiona and I had the place to ourself).
Fiona asked me what Thanksgiving was truly about for Americans and I paused for a moment before answering. I don't think there is a single answer to that question, as I think there are different shades of meaning for every American. For me, it is a deeply religious holiday: a time to thank God for family and for the numerous blessings of the year. It is also a time to give thanks for food, and for the wonderful earth that provides us with abundant supplies of nourishment. It is also a day for slowness, for contemplation, for eating and digesting, for long walks, and for rest. A Sabbath time.
So I reflected what that means here in Sicily. Even without turkeys, sweet potatoes, my grandmother's awesome sage-cornbread stuffing, pie, and family, there are elements of this season in Sicily that seem familiar to me. It is also a time for harvest and thanksgiving. Olives are being harvested and pressed for oil, the grapes are being pressed and fermented for next year's wine, the almonds are fresh from the autumn harvest, and Case Vecchie's storerooms are full of squashes and other winter vegetables. The year is winding down into winter and the days are now chilly and wonderfully somber. The hills are in shades of purple, sages, and browns, with the occasional splash of autumnal gold (see above).
So I reflected what that means here in Sicily. Even without turkeys, sweet potatoes, my grandmother's awesome sage-cornbread stuffing, pie, and family, there are elements of this season in Sicily that seem familiar to me. It is also a time for harvest and thanksgiving. Olives are being harvested and pressed for oil, the grapes are being pressed and fermented for next year's wine, the almonds are fresh from the autumn harvest, and Case Vecchie's storerooms are full of squashes and other winter vegetables. The year is winding down into winter and the days are now chilly and wonderfully somber. The hills are in shades of purple, sages, and browns, with the occasional splash of autumnal gold (see above).
But above all, the olive harvest becomes the focus of November here. Two days ago, we took a walk to photograph the olive harvest and had to bundle in scarves and hats due to the cold. With my cheeks pink and tingling, I felt giddy and very grateful to be here. We watched the group of local men pull the olives off the tree with long sticks, onto canvas mesh blankets that they put on the ground. I've never seen olives with such a pink hue. They were incredible to photograph. Olive oil is so central to life here. I haven't met a dish without it yet. A few weeks ago, I went to the nearby factory where they press all the local olives, and the oil comes out bright green and sharp. After a few days, it mellows to a golden color, but is still peppery and flavorful. It is unlike anything I've tasted at home.
December will be full of filming and Christmas preparation, and cold and gray days, but November was a peaceful time for me. I am grateful that I am beginning to think of this place as a home, and that this month cemented that--my relationships with my Sicilian colleagues and friends deepened, my Italian got a little better every day, I had the free time to cook and paint with Fiona often at Case Vecchie when Fabrizia was touring America, Lorelei and Theresa visited me (more on that in the next post), and I spent enough time walking the countryside that I noticed that day-to-day changes of one season fading into another.