We used to spend Thanksgivings on the farm. The idyllic, iconic American experience. Mamaw would meet us at the door with hugs and, laughing, draw us into the small-but-always-sparkling clean house. She spent days shopping and chopping, and woke before dawn to start the turkey. On the farm, ‘before dawn’ is not exactly a big deal. That’s every day real life. Still, those early sounds of her stirring before the sun were the signal that some epic food action was... Read more