Trail turkey: Thanksgiving feast 
brings Appalachian Trail family together

Twenty-two years ago, Janet Hensley, now 59, was working in guest services at a new hotel in her hometown of Erwin, Tennessee.

Giving Thanks

By Sabrina Matheny • Rumble Contributor | I am spiritual medium and intuitive designer. Some of my skills include communicating with the spirit world via spirit speak in order to get guidance for my clients; balancing spaces using my knowledge of Feng Shui principles in homes and businesses to bring about a feeling of peace and harmony; and teaching others about energy work. 

A unique kind of holiday

Every year of our girlhood, my sister and I woke up early on Thanksgiving Day, sat at the kitchen barstools in our pajamas and helped my mom break up cornbread and biscuits so we could make my great grandmother’s dressing recipe. Throughout the day, the house would fill with smells of turkey, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. Sometime mid-morning, my grandparents would drive up from Travelers Rest, S.C., to join in on the festivities. 

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

By Sabrina Matheny • Rumble Contributor | Last weekend I had dinner with friends and felt so grateful to be with such awesome people.  Think back to the times that you gathered with those you hadn’t seen in a while and nutshelled each other as to what was new and different in order to share your lives. I was having one of these mini conversations with an old friend and she asked me to remind her of my date’s name.  As I did, I added a fun way to remember his name to avoid any awkwardness between them.  She looked at me and said, “I don’t need help remembering that name.  I had a good friend named ….”

Family, friends and gratitude: a great American holiday

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I raided my public library, brought home an armload of books having to do with Turkey Day, and am delighted to share them with you here.

Be smart, and things don’t have to get worse

Let me wish each and every one of you a Happy Thanksgiving. Each year at the Passover celebration, there is a saying: “Next year in Jerusalem.” It’s a way of saying: “next year may we be in a better place.’’ Right now, I bet we can all get behind that.

This must be the place: They’re cutting through the steady wind and landing on the ground

Like every Thanksgiving, I’ll figure something out. 

With my family over 1,000 miles away back up in the North Country, I tend to be an orphan during this holiday feast in Western North Carolina. Luckily, over the last eight years here, I’ve been invited into homes all over Southern Appalachia, where the food is plentiful and there’s always an extra seat at the table for you.

Grocery store is stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey

Mushrooms. I needed mushrooms, and mushrooms were all I needed. It was my night to cook, and I wanted to make spaghetti because we’ve eaten chicken approximately 11 consecutive nights at my house. We’ve done that because the members of my family have developed “dietary restrictions” over the years to the extent that we are down to approximately three dishes that we can agree on, one of those being chicken prepared about a dozen different ways.

Thoughts on Thanksgiving and traditions

Funny how when you’re living in a moment, you don’t realize how truly special the moment is. Only later in life does the full onslaught of gratitude cover you like a warm nostalgic blanket. That’s how I feel when I reflect upon Thanksgiving days of the past. 

Every Thanksgiving morning, my sister and I would wake up and wander into the kitchen bleary-eyed and still wearing pajamas. As the Asheville Christmas Parade played on WLOS, my mom would be sipping coffee and have already cooked cornbread and biscuits, the beginning ingredients for my great-grandmother’s dressing recipe. 

This must be the place: ‘Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but to carry on’

I couldn’t believe she gave me a ticket.

Thanksgiving 2001. I was 16 years old. Having just ate a quick meal with my family up on the Canadian Border of Upstate New York, I jumped into my rusty 1989 Toyota Camry and bolted down the road towards Vermontville, a tiny hamlet in the heart of the desolate Adirondack Mountains. 

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