Thanksgiving Notes and Poem

Thanksgiving Notes and Poem

By Alice Jane-Marie Massa

                Do you recall singing and/or reading “Over the river, and through the wood, to Grandfather’s house we go …” when you were in grade school?  Perhaps, you, like I, learned this poem by Lydia Maria Child (first published in 1844 in Flowers for Children, Volume II) as “Grandmother’s house”–not the original “Grandfather’s house.”  While the poem entitled “The New-England Boy’s Song about Thanksgiving” consisted of twelve stanzas, the eventual song most often included only four of the stanzas.  While the composer of the music is unknown, Lydia Maria Child was known as a novelist, journalist, teacher, and poet. 

                Speaking of grandmothers and Thanksgiving, my earliest remembrance of Thanksgiving was at my maternal grandmother’s house.  I have a distinct recollection of being seated at the large round table while the room was filled with talking relatives:  as a young child of five or six, I wondered when I would ever have a chance to talk in the midst of this chatty gathering.  Many of our favorite Thanksgivings were at my Aunt Zita’s restaurant when a throng of more than thirty relatives took over the main room of the closed-for-the-holiday restaurant.  Since I have written about these Thanksgivings previously, I am sharing with you a new poem about my paternal grandmother because I wrote the first draft of this piece at a poetry workshop on November 1.  On that Sunday evening meeting of one of my writers’ groups, the guest speaker Marilyn Johnston, an acclaimed poet from Oregon, gave “hands” as one of the prompts.  After I brailled the first draft of the poem, I enjoyed presenting the poem at the workshop.  However, last week, I significantly expanded and revised the poem for my monthly critique group.  The latest version of the poem is a tribute to my grandmother whom many of us will recall this Thanksgiving; similarly, many of you will fondly remember your grandmothers.  Additionally, this poem is dedicated to my grandmother’s daughter–my Aunt Kathy who lives in snowy Minnesota.

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The Hands of Liza Bogetto Massa–My Grandma Farm

By Alice Jane-Marie Massa

When I was very young,

Mrs. Toner told me that I had “piano hands”:

Despite my shorter stature,

I did have especially long hands–

An advantage for a student pianist.

At an early age, I could reach an octave;

However, my hands were nothing like my grandmother’s hands.

My Grandma Farm’s hands crocheted Italian lace pieces

At the speed of an Olympic runner.

Those artistic hands that created such textile art

Could also quickly wring the neck of a chicken

To provide a tasty supper for the family.

The strong hands that turned the polenta

Also made apple turnovers

From the apple trees on the farm

And grape jelly from my grandfather’s grape arbor.

The hands that milked the cows each dawn

Later fed the chickens and sole rooster.

Those age-spotted hands that kept a spotless kitchen

Also scrubbed the wood of the three-seater outhouse.

The hands that never seemed to rest

Reached out to hungry neighborhood children during The Depression

And handed them her homemade bread and jelly.

Those confident hands held the beads of the rosary each night

To pray for her four sons

Who were in Europe during World War II

To fight for their mother’s adopted country.

Those hands that prayed so fervently

Welcomed home four sons–safe and well.

Grandma’s arthritic hands set examples of hard work, determination,

Laughter, and love for almost ninety-six years.

Now, with my piano hands,

I touch one of my grandmother’s many lace pieces;

And I realize her heart was in her hands.

* * *

Early wishes for a very healthy and happy Thanksgiving!

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

November 18, 2020, Wednesday

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