To all American friends and readers: Happy Thanksgiving. It’s the best of all holidays. From a sensibly-sentimental piece I wrote a few years ago:
Thanksgiving is the most genial holiday. I know this because the Canadians have their own version of the greatest of all American holidays. If one were to select a single word to describe the holiday, it might be “wholesome”. Not wholesome in a eat-your-tofu kind of fashion, but in a simpler, gentler fashion. Thanksgiving has all one needs from a holiday: family, friends, food.
At the tail end of fall in some parts or crusted by the first snows of winter in others, Thanksgiving either feels ripe and misty or crisp and clear. Either way, it rewards a long morning walk along the river or through the park, preferably in the company of a squirrel-chasing spaniel or labrador, followed by a return home for a warming glass of hot port, a log fire and the time-honoured, same-as-they-always-are rituals of the feast.
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