On Tuesday evening, Tim and I made pumpkin rolls, a favorite Thanksgiving tradition we inherited from his mom. This is a time consuming, though ultimately tasty process. It involves mixing and baking the rolls, then rolling them in floured towels while they cool, then unrolling them the next day and spreading the cream cheese frosting inside, then re-rolling, dusting with powder sugar, serving and eating! Here is Tim mid-process.
On Wednesday, the boys and I brought one of our pumpkin rolls up to our neighbors in Arlee, another special part of our Montana Thanksgiving tradition - and likely the thing we do that most closely parallels the traditional, though highly-revised, Thanksgiving story: The west-arriving settlers appreciate what they've learned from Native Americans regarding how to live in the New World. Every Thanksgiving, we too are reminded of our own gratitude toward our first Montana friends, Snuse and Christine McClure, who are native, and who taught us a good deal about what it is to live in the West.
Thanksgiving was a bright clear day and full of friends. Our good buddy, Steve, flew in from Vancouver to celebrate the holiday with us. There were 12 here for dinner, though, I think, we must have had food for 30. A warm, abundant, time, just as Thanksgiving should be.
A brisk walk along the creek on Friday (and a last piece of pumpkin roll) rounded out the holiday festivities, just in time for Advent to open before us.
Steve and Corin: Tree Climbers
Along the Creek
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