My Colorado

Thanksgiving, Colorado-style

By Cindy Strandvold

Every year when I was growing up, someone would ask what I had for Thanksgiving dinner. I’d smile and answer, “Pizza.”

“Pizza! What kind of Thanksgiving is that?”

A perfect one in my young eyes. None of us kids liked turkey, and ham wasn’t much better. My mother was a forward thinker. Why should her children have to eat something they weren’t thankful for on Thanksgiving? She posted a request list on the refrigerator and everyone always got what they wanted.

But my favorite Thanksgiving had nothing to do with food. My parents packed the station wagon and drove us up the Big Thompson Canyon. Fat snowflakes swirled from the gray sky, icing the trees like a picture on a Christmas card. Once we reached the turnoff near Estes Park, the car forged up the winding dirt road through the snow, stopping only when we reached a rustic cabin nestled in the woods. I didn’t care that there was no water or electricity—in fact, I secretly hoped we got snowed in.

We carried everything inside while my father started a fire in the wood-burning stove that sat in the middle of the floor. It was a long time before it was warm enough to take off our coats and mittens.

Over the next few days Dad joined in our marathon Monopoly games, something he never had time for at home. All five of us made snowmen, drank hot chocolate and laughed till our sides hurt. Wet boots left puddles on the floor while we snuggled in our sleeping bags with our favorite books.

Wind rushed through the tall pines, buffeting our tiny cabin and making us dread the necessary trips to the outhouse. Contact between bare skin and the cold seat brought a gasp of shock. Involuntary gasps soon turned into intentional whoops — the goal being to see if your whoop could be heard by those still inside the cabin.

I remember many things from that trip. The warm circle of light hissing forth from our Coleman lantern. My dad feeding the ever-hungry wood stove in the middle of the night. The smell of propane when my mom started breakfast.

I can’t remember what we ate. It didn’t matter.

We didn’t need a traditional Thanksgiving feast to make our holiday complete. That Thanksgiving we feasted on togetherness. We feasted on fun and silliness. We feasted on time. I don’t know what possessed my parents to haul their three children to a primitive mountain cabin that winter, but I think it’s safe to say those memories lasted far longer than a plate full of turkey and dressing.

Your Turn

Do you have a special memory or humorous story about living in Colorado? EnCompass is looking for original essays (sorry, no fiction or poetry) that capture the uniqueness of our state. Payment is $60 upon publication. Entries must be 350-450 words. Please include a daytime phone number. Entries will not be returned. Email your story to editor@colorado.aaa.com.