My idea of Thanksgiving wasn’t instilled by an artist. That happened on a plane ride over Iowa, many Novembers ago. My wife and I were flying to Cedar Rapids to spend the holiday with her parents. Propeller planes then flew low over America, and around midday I noticed a recurring pattern on the snow-covered landscape below. Cars and pickup trucks, presumably loaded with husbands and wives and their kids, kept turning off the arrow-straight county roads and into the yard of the ancestral farmhouse—the one that had a barn. America was coming home.

Hey everybody, no Civil War here today. Someone woke up at 7:00 to dress our turkey. The bird is now in the oven and we are relaxing with our coffee and our Kindles and Pink Martini on the record player. Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, probably because I have much to be thankful for. Wherever you are, we hope you enjoy your day. Happy Thanksgiving.

(above/theHayfoot’s homemade cranberry sauce)