A Butterball of a Thanksgiving Story



Canadian Thanksgiving is in early October, and I really have no delicious memories to share. We came, we saw, we ate, and we left. Meals were always the same; but I might have the odd jellied salad recipe for you. However, what I do want to share is this true story that will live with me throughout all the seasons.

My late father-in-law was raised as a child on a farm in northern Italy. Nono, as we called him, firmly held views that all farm animals were raised strictly for eating purposes. He had absolutely no sentimental value for anything that could be sliced, diced or roasted. Each year for either Thanksgiving or Christmas he raised fresh turkeys. My sons and I had a hard time eating anything that we had given names to, and his tales of animals running away were wearing thin, as we knew what their fates had…

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