Live Free: Turkey Tables & Trails
Managing editor, Emily Heidt's family reunites for Thanksgiving and fulfills a childhood dream
For many, Thanksgiving in New Hampshire often feels like an “over the river and through the woods, to Grandfather’s house we go” holiday. As of this year, exploring autumnal trails on Turkey Day has become commonplace for me, too.
I grew up at Thanksgiving tables filled with what I like to call “my five Fs” — faith, family, friends, food and football — each considered a crucial ingredient in creating a sense of place rooted in New Hampshire.
Whether the table was set beside the 1800s fireplace at my great aunt’s, overlooking Torch Lake with my cousins, or most often found in my parents’ living room — hopefully with the spoon resting in the right spot, lest my sisters and I get a chiding “How do you forget this every single year?” from my mom — a blend of these five F’s became the trail of breadcrumbs that always led me back home.
Like Dorothy, I moved to Boston for grad school years ago in my own “follow the yellow brick road” moment, only to discover the city girl hat didn’t fit quite right. I, too, clicked the heels of my L.L. Bean boots and cried, “There’s no place like home,” finding myself back on Granite State soil after one holiday season away.
My younger sisters, Becky and Kristin, also carved their own paths in other states and had their own set of adventures, like Kristin embarking on a desperate quest across southeast Michigan to find Bell’s Seasoning for Grammy’s stuffing ball recipe on Thanksgiving Day. The Heidt family’s commitment to holiday traditions truly knows no bounds — even across state lines.
After years away, the same trails my sisters once explored have become the worn paths that now welcome them home. This time, they’re stepping back into the mudroom with their own families, Becky with Stefan, and Kristin with David, and their daughter, Millie. Fine by me — I’ve been keeping their seats warm and saving a piece of pumpkin tea loaf for them since the moment they left. This state certainly has its way of calling us back, doesn’t it?
This Turkey Day, instead of relying on a two-hour flight to reunite us, I’ll drive just six minutes to Kristin and David’s house, jump in the backseat with Millie, and make our 20-minute trek through winding roads to mom and dad’s house.
As kids, we always joked about wanting to be connected by an underground tunnel. Now we are in the form of a backyard trail that links my childhood home to Stefan’s —a 1700s colonial home that Stefan and Becky recently purchased and will host Thanksgiving dinner at with both families for the first time.
We’ll gather around the cozy fireplace — the five Fs on display between the rambunctious kids’ table in one room (30-year-olds included) and the adults in the other — with plates and hearts full of gratitude, savoring both new and old flavors and traditions alike. Pass the gravy, and a little sweet potato marshmallow casserole, and meet me for a trail ramble after the last bite.
