Thanksgiving

Stanley and Ella Ranum with Gregory on Thanksgiving Day at Rosewood, 1941

NOVEMBER 1922

Rosewood News The Ostgaard Family from Gatzke spent Thanksgiving with the Benhard Ranum’s. (Cora was Benhard's sister).

NOVEMBER 1929

Thanksgiving
Mr. And Mrs. Benhard Ranum and Benny Ranum were entertained at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Otto Ranum at Warren on Thanksgiving. (Otto was Benhard's half brother. Otto's son lives in Oregon, few days go by without hearing from Patrick).

NOVEMBER 1941

Mr. And Mrs. Stanley Ranum and son and Mr. And Mrs. Harry Ranum and son spent Thanksgiving at the Mr. And Mrs. Benhard Ranum’s. Greg would have been a little over one year old and Bruce was less than six months old).

NOVEMBER 1955

Mr. and Mrs. Benhard Ranum were entertained at the Stanley Ranum residence for Thanksgiving dinner. And this is the rest of the story..........

Fall started early in Thief River Falls that year. While moving to the country on and around Halloween, it began to snow and it didn't look like Mother Nature had a plan to stop it any time soon. It was to be a harsh winter.

Daddy bladed the snows from the circle drive often. Already banks had begun to form along the block long entrance from the highway. As soon as the ground was frozen, he would push it even farther away from the road.

A hard wind and a devil of a snowstorm came up the night before Thanksgiving. I slept in a west upstairs bedroom and the sound of the wind was frightening. It was the first time in my life I had heard the howl of the wind. I have never learned to like the eerie sound.

Morning broke bright. The snow was rigid from the wind. It lay in ripples and the sun blazed down upon it. Almost like a bed of diamonds.

The ponies were lined up against the fence, watching the back door. They nickered as Daddy and I walked out of the house. The snow crunched beneath our feet as we walked over the drifted snow. Even our words seemed crisp.

Daddy shoveled to access the tractor as I fed the ponies. Then, the two of us shoveled. The tractor would not start; it was too cold and too old. It was not plugged in. Maybe it would start when it was warmer, like twenty below.

We went back to the house to the aroma of cooking turkey. My Grandparent’s were coming for dinner, how were they going to get from the open highway to the house?

Daddy called them to tell them the driveway was not open. They were snowbound themselves and as soon as the streets in town were open, they would call. Mother fretted, would her dinner be ruined?

Near eleven o’clock the phone rang and they were on their way. Mother put the potatoes on to cook which she would later run through the ricer.

Once again, I layered like an Eskimo and set out to meet my grandparents at the highway. It was cold, I could feel the hair in my nose freezing, and I pulled my scarf up to cover my mouth and jumped up and down to keep warm.

I saw their gray ’49 Plymouth. I began to wave.

Grandpa was dressed in a plaid jacket, it did not hide his pendulous abdomen, and he laughed about being snowbound and talked about really being snow bound years ago.

Grandma looked pursed, as she often did when she was stressed. “Benhard, I am going to run my nylons wading in this snow”, she said. Benhard told her the snow was crusted and would carry the weight of even her. He walked before her and she followed. There were no footprints, the snow was too hard. I was third in line. Grandma in her wine coat, scarf, and black overshoes walked pigeon toed and carefully followed Grandpa.

Dinner was wonderful. Daddy set aside his lime Jell-O with carrots and celery, set on a lettuce leaf and topped with salad dressing and paprika. At any celebration, he questioned why he should eat rabbit food when he could have the real thing. Mother made a tisk-tisk sound with her teeth.

Grandpa kidded Grandma out of her sullen mood.

The tractor started and the driveway was plowed. Daddy went up to the road and got their Plymouth. He started it and let it warm up despite Grandpa insisting it took too much gas.

That evening, I looked out the window. The night was very still. The yard light reflected the glistening snow. I could see the ponies’ breath.

I could hear I was thankful

Fly forward fifty plus years.

I can hear I am thankful.

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