We’re on our way to the farm, land that has belonged to my daughter’s boyfriend’s family for over a hundred years. A thanksgiving invitation has me accompanying her on her familiar monthly trek and night has fallen as we travel down a narrow-graveled road. The warm light of the farmhouse greets us and many hands appear to help in transporting suitcases and bags of requests from “the city”. 

Loud voices, numerous hugs and a welcome and predictable “you must need a snack”, I notice a table with massive plates filled with delicious food. It’s a good thing I brought my “stretchy pants” as this will be a common appetizing theme throughout the long weekend. How can I say no? Homemade… everything calls to me. 

Morning on the farm comes early and the smell of fresh coffee and conversation serves as my alarm clock. Breakfast, a smorgasbord of quiche, bacon, fruit, waffles, and freshly baked muffins – I won’t need to eat for the rest of the day, but I know I will. 

Off to tour the farm. Nine new black and spotted piglets, all boys, so cute and so quick. There’ll be no petting or cuddling. Momma has a steady eye on me and will protect her babies at all cost. Her massive size and steely glare keep me at my distance. The kittens have a friendlier demeaner and one with white, six toed paws tags along on our journey. The pasture awaits with the horses and one, ornery bull (in his own enclosure). My daughter grabs a random piece of twine, gently places it around the horse’s neck and jumps on for an impromptu ride. Her equestrian skills amaze me as this city girl has embraced the farm life and developed remarkable  skills. As I admire her proficiency, I feel a warm, moist nuzzle cradle tenderly into my neck. It startles me, and when I carefully look over, a giant nose greets me. A curious mare decides I’m a safe friend and continues her nestling while we visit. Off to visit the bull. His size is intimidating and his attitude daunting. We enter the pen and I cowardly hide behind my daughter and her beau. He kicks up dust and lets us know we’re in his space. His face is saying “piss off” and we do. 

Thanksgiving dinner preparation begins mid-afternoon. My contribution is turkey dressing and gravy. Unsure of the number of guests, I decide to quadruple my recipe. Using an industrial pot, I can barely reach to its bottom. My daughter wants to know the secret ingredients as I rarely follow any directions and I talk her through the process. All guests bring their own specialties and the hosts produce a magazine worthy, mouth-watering turkey. The dishes keep coming, laughter and chatting dominates the air. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have created a nobler scene. 

The grandparents arrived with musical instruments in tow and we all head outdoors for a concert and sing along. They’ve been together over sixty years and I find myself aching for the kind of love and devotion their admiration for each other has produced over these many decades. My daughter has a beautiful gift for me. She’s been practicing one of our favorite childhood songs on the guitar and invites me to sing with her. I can barely make it through without tearing up, what a lovely surprise. 

I look around at this charming scene. What am I thankful for? Every minute of it.  

I found myself absorbed in reverence as I remembered reading about the tremendously brave students who boldly protested against the communist government. The need to be heard, to have freedom of speech and freedom to live as they chose conquered their fear.  The “tank man” who unflinchingly stood in front of a moving tanker became a true symbol of a generation longing for change. 

Appreciating the precise grooming of the shrubs and the fantastic colours enthralled me, but my admiration was quickly interrupted. A large group of local visitors became obsessed with my daughter and me. We were a unique pair, with our very similar appearance and my daughters’ vibrant tattoos. Our new friends begged for a photo op. Many arms reached around us to cuddle close as iPhones captured the memory. Only after the group moved on did we think to check our backpacks. Our passports and money were inside! This could have meant a disastrous end to our trip if our acquaintances had had sinister motives. We were fortunate all was intact, but vowed to be more cautious and protective. 

After accumulating fourteen kilometers on our feet, we decided to spend a bit of time shopping and then head back to the hotel for a long-needed rest. Just outside the Square was an array of small shops and we headed into the first one. A surprising collection of garments and shoes called to us. We were greeted immediately by a saleswoman who obviously had a lot of personality. She gave me a quick head to toe glance and announced in full voice “more bigger!” as she led us to the larger sized items. Back in Canada, the clothes would be of average size, but there was a different standard in a country of very petite shoppers. I chuckled at her forwardness. The owner’s over the top and bubbly personality had me captivated and I quickly picked up some lovely keepsakes. The next shop was full of kitschy jewelry and we both agreed we needed to purchase a Frozen locket for my youngest daughter back home. We both knew she would be amused. 

Each shop was a chance to bargain; the challenge exciting and entertaining. The last stop had the selfie stick we needed to replace. We both needed some water as well and my daughter was in full negotiating mode. She continually offered less and less for the goods. Finally, our shopkeeper was insulted and refused to communicate any further. She focused on her cell phone after a stern, exasperated look at us. We left without the stick or water and learned a lesson about bargaining in moderation. Our charm had faded, so we chuckled and headed back to the hotel. 

A day of culture, new encounters and shopping adventures! We would rest well tonight treasuring our new memories.