Albo P Fossa—November 20, 2019
Thanksgiving can be a pain in the neck.
Think of the poor turkeys: a life of only 12 to 19 weeks only to have their heads amputated at the neck. Most have a hard life, beaks and claws trimmed, living in close quarters segregated by gender, on a diet of corn and soybean meal. Mmm.
(The mashed potatoes take 70–120 days to grow; the green beans for the casserole 65 or so days. The cranberry vines grow not from seeds, but from cuttings which may not yield berries for 3 to 4 years: one might wonder where the the original cuttings came from—a turkey and the egg question.)
Long raising, cooking, serving and washing dishes for Thanksgiving can be a pain in the neck. All this, for a holiday which has become mostly a precursor to Christmas—or an interruption in a Christmas season which has already begun. Turkey break!
We’re properly grateful at Thanksgiving. We share a great life, loose shoes, and a warm place to unload. We share Santa Fe, artfully red or green. We share New Mexico, with adobe lands and skies clear as turquoise. And we share laughter for the oddities of the world beyond.
I’ve described how local Pueblo members have joked about being called “Indians” instead of “Turkeys” because of the sailors’ destination. Turkeys have a bad rep.
Does the turkey feel like Rodney Dangerfield? The poor turkey lives a hard life only to leave a neck many will treat as a handle then discard. Next!