Canadian Thanksgiving occurs this weekend. It is one of my favourite holidays, celebrating harvest and the abundance of the land. During our stretch of sunshine at the end of September I got into Thanksgiving mode a little early.
We picked pumpkins, 
harvested apples,
and gathered seed for next year’s flowers.
We were dazzled by dahlias and
enchanted with a late blooming rose.
My world teemed with abundance. My soul stretched and soared in gratitude.
Then, to top it all off, we attended a stage production of “Glorious” by Peter Quilter. This is the story of Florence Foster Jenkins, the world’s worst opera singer.
And she was a terrible singer. She tackled the most demanding coloratura repertoire and murdered it in spectacular fashion. I couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently her real life audience laughed too, but they loved her and she was invited to sing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Why?
I believe it was because of her exuberant joy. She loved music, loved singing. It brought her unparalleled happiness and she wanted to share that happiness with the world. I think she felt the same way on stage as I feel when I gloat over the harvest from my garden. We are uplifted, exultant and full of joy.
At this time of thanksgiving, I wish all my readers overwhelming joy, the kind that cannot be contained in a safe, conventional life. I wish you the exuberance of my dahlias and the bursting enthusiasm of Florence Foster Jenkins.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I
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Practicing gratitude is always a good idea, but here, in Canada, we set aside the second weekend in October to give thanks particularly for the harvest. This is a wonderful season of the year, warm days, cold nights, the leaves turning to scarlet and gold, and the bounty of field and garden coming to fruition. Thanksgiving is one of my favourite holidays, not only because I love the harvest, but because it’s an excuse to feast with friends and family, to have a day off work and be done. No weeks of shopping, baking, wrapping, decorating, concert-going and entertaining. Décor can be as simple as a pumpkin on the doorstep or coloured leaves scattered across the dining room table. And when it’s over, it’s over. Cook the pumpkin and make pie. Throw the leaves in the compost, and life goes back to normal.
In our lives we have relationships to nurture and be thankful for. Memories of loved ones who have passed but who still bless our spirits. Family who may frustrate and delight us in the space of a few minutes but who are “ours” bound together for life in the rich soup that is parents and children, cousins and aunts, in-laws and steps, siblings by birth or adoption. I’m never-endingly grateful for the messy, swirling mass of humanity that is my family.
It is harvest time where I live. Although I’m not on a farm I have a garden and small orchard, so I am reaping the rewards of my summer’s labour. Our storage bins are full, I’ve given away boxes of apples, and still the trees are loaded with fruit. My shelves of preserves look like sunshine in a jar. On a cold, wet, dark night in January, we’ll eat strawberry jam and it will taste like summer. An apple pie at Christmas time will come straight from our own trees. Truly, we live in a bountiful land.
In my book, 
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