The journey of Terry's Thanksgiving stuffing

Like life, Terry's Thanksgiving stuffing is a journey — a little of this, a little of that, evolving and revolving.

Small, smooth hands alongside large freckled hands, chopping and sautéing and pouring into the big stainless pot — squeezing the moist mixture, blending the flavors, tasting the spiced bread, proclaiming it perfect — or maybe a bit more of this, of that.

Terry is not a man of the kitchen, so the origin of his culinary effort is all the more remarkable — opening a wedding gift for our first Thanksgiving — a Betty Crocker cookbook — and beginning with the basic recipe. From there, it became an act of love for his family each Thanksgiving Eve. Young children stood in pajamas on chairs beside the counter, not yet able to chop an obstinate onion, crisp celery stalks, or stir sizzling bacon on a hot stove top. But they could pour the chicken broth and explain how they loved squeezing the cubes of moist bread with the sliced black olives, mushrooms, water chestnuts, and all the rest.
Scooping up a ball of mixture, Dad got the first taste. Then four eager mouths sampled the treat, again and again. There was always more than enough.
The recipe traveled north from Spokane, Wash., via the Alcan Highway to Big Lake, Alaska. Now, a variation. There was still a pound of mild breakfast sausage, but the zesty Italian rope sausage, sliced in penny-sized chunks, awaited another day. Here, in the land of the Northern Lights and cold, frosty nights, was reindeer sausage!
The children blossomed into teens. Dad worked the swing shift with a long commute. Their father woke them at 2 a.m. to prepare the stuffing. Grown hands together, squeezing the bread. Guests raved over it — except for the year wild rice was tossed in from the box, adding an unintended crunch.
The recipe flew south to the Minneapolis suburb of Lakeville; the teens are now gone. Terry was on his own, with no reindeer sausage to be had. But there was a superb meat market where, once again, Italian sausage became the favorite spicy meat addition. Wiser now, Minnesota's wild rice — growing in the state's northern lakes and marshes — was thoroughly softened and mixed in.
What to do for Thanksgiving: We expected a Muslim father and daughter from the tiny country of Togo, West Africa. Pork was not an option; we left it out.
From Minnesota, the recipe traveled west along I-90 to Priest River — the habitat of our high school days when Terry and I met more than fifty years ago. Our son and his Texas wife moved to our small town. Their oldest, almost ten, now comes on Thanksgiving Eve to help Grandpa make stuffing. A smooth brown hand beside a weathered freckled one. Sinking arms into the pot up to her elbows — meshing parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme — poultry seasoning, salt and pepper, and garlic powder. Working and squeezing the flavorful concoction again until it is ready for tasting. Grandpa sampling first.
Like life, Terry's Thanksgiving stuffing is a journey — a little of this, a little of that — evolving, revolving — blending time, place, and family. The secret is in the squeezing.
Ingredients:
Dried bread cubes
Chicken broth
Breakfast sausage
Italian rope sausage
Bacon
Onion
Celery
Mushrooms
Black olives
Water chestnuts
Wild rice
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Poultry seasoning, salt, pepper, and garlic powder