When I was a child, I had the very best Thanksgiving ever. I don’t remember exactly how old I was but my birthday, November 21, fell on Thanksgiving Day that year. It also happened to be one of the biggest family dinners I can recall.

My dad’s side of the family all got together. This was no small feat because my dad had 15 brothers and sisters. The school gymnasium in Washburn, North Dakota, was used for the occasion. Washburn was the hometown of my dad’s sister and his brother and their families.

I have no idea how many aunts, uncles and cousins came that day but a good guess would be at least 50 or 60. I can only imagine how many turkeys were roasted in the school’s ovens. It should have been a feast. I don’t remember the food, and I don’t remember my gifts, but I do remember the fun all of us cousins had running and playing all over the gymnasium and up into the bleachers. I thought it was the “bestest” birthday party ever.

In other years, our family came to Washburn to have the holiday with my dad’s sister, Elsie, and her husband, Emanuel. When we arrived and they opened their door, immediately the smell gave us assurance that good food would soon be on the table. Since my grandmother had passed away when I was very young, I considered this aunt as my replacement grandmother. She would have on one of those aprons that covered her whole dress, and when she opened the oven to check the turkey, she would squint and look over the top of her glasses. She looked like my grandmother from what I can remember as a very little girl. Grandma always had a big apron on and her house always smelled good, just like my aunt’s.

My uncle Emanuel was my favorite. He was so kind and since their kids were all grown, he really enjoyed entertaining me, my sister and brothers. He would let me comb his hair and fix it just so. He always wanted my sister and I to sing any songs we had learned in Sunday school or Bible school. I remember singing “Yes, Jesus Loves Me, This I Know” and “This LIttle LIght of Mine.”

They had a parakeet and my uncle would let it out of its cage. He would tell us to put our finger out and the bird would land on it. I was afraid but squeezed my eyes shut and pointed my finger. I hoped that the bird would never land and it didn’t.

These good memories always come back to me as we drive by Washburn. If you look down a certain street, you can still see the house. Someone still lives there. My aunt and uncle are long gone, but I will never forget them and the good times we had, the good memories they gave us.