An account from Eugenia Howard Hunt about …
Thanksgiving – Nov. 22 ’62
There were too many covers and a bird was singing full notes. I knew it was warmer before I opened my eyes.
Wilmer was yet asleep as I put my coat on, after turning the fire on under the kettle for coffee, and went on. It was brisk, and no paper- I saw it half-way down the street. I slipped my coat sleeves on and went after it – wondering what a sight I was – but no one was out. The dog [Sam, a Boston] dashed through the crackling leaves for her early morning exercise through the tall trees.
Sperry cooked our breakfast. I made up the beds, bathed, gathered the wooden salad bowls and dressing, my specialty. Wilmer got the icebox. We all swished back and forth, gathering our things for the day. Putting out the dogs and etc.
Wilmer bought an arm rest for the car which is in reality a shaped box to hold the comforts, which usually float about the car.
Off with our wonderful salad bowls ?? for lettuces then the highway, bright and golden all the way to the farm. A day, like a rose with every petal full out. The lawn around the old house was lush and deep. Everybody looked so happy. Mary Howard, Mary Mize, Frita (?), Philo, Georgia, Brother, Ryland, Robin, Rosa (?), Malcolm Jr., Mother, Daddy, Cousin Ike, Mary Lily and Dolly Ann, Jano and David Howard, Wilmer and myself ah – and Eric, the French boy living with Robin.