From our October 2012 Issue

By Winnie Stevenson – Tisdale, Sask.

When I was but a little child
Most of the meat we had was wild
We lived in a cabin in the wood
I thought that kind of life was good.

I had a father and a mother
Two sisters and a brother
Material things were hard to find
To us our parents were good and kind.

It was in the Dirty ‘30s I first discovered God
We lived upon a homestead
Where no one had turned the sod
Father was out threshing
On other peoples’ farms.

Mother told us of Thanksgiving
In a voice so soft and warm
She said “We have lots to be thankful for
“Dad has a job, we have our health
“Now who could ask for more?”

But as she told us of Thanksgiving
Of turkey and pumpkin pies
A sadness came into her voice
And a tear came to her eyes.

She sighed and said “We’ll have no meat
“On this special day.”
And in my childish mind I made a wish
When we went out to play.

As we three were playing
On a path our feet had worn
A prairie chicken landed there
And led us to the barn

It must have been sent from Heaven
For it could have flown away
But my brother caught it
We had meat Thanksgiving Day.

As mother asked the blessing
In a voice so filled with love
I felt His presence watching
From somewhere up above.