Where Gratitude Lives: A True North Thanksgiving Prelude

As I sit to write this, I’ve clocked out of my workday, and the sun is sliding behind the ridge, pouring honey-gold and pink light across the land like it’s blessing the world on its way out. The warmth of the day is replaced by the coolness of the fall weather. Winter is on its way. The birds have gathered in the backyard, flitting around like they’re swapping last-minute holiday gossip, and the pups are sprawled across the bed in full dramatic exhaustion despite doing absolutely nothing productive all day. 

PawPaw John is tucked in his office. Grams and Papa are in the living room, the rhythm of their conversation drifting through the hall. Upstairs, Ashlin and the boys are curled up, she fighting off a little bug with blankets and cartoons. 

And everywhere I look… True North is beginning to sparkle. Twinkle lights half-hung. The faint smell of pine, even though no one has touched a tree. Stockings waiting to be hung. There’s this almost-electric hum, like the house knows the holidays are stepping closer. The excitement is starting to swell within me. This time of year holds magic. This has always been my favorite time of year.

And we can all feel it: Thanksgiving is coming!

Papa is already discussing the turkey. I think he would revolt if we ever dared to serve anything but turkey. Not to worry we do not eat friends so Elliot, Melonie, and Ezra are safe. 

Meanwhile, the littles are completely unbothered by turkey politics. They’re operating at dessert-only altitude. Whispering about pie like it’s forbidden treasure. Though they know Gigi and PawPaw are the weakest link, they will indulge them in their sugar cravings. 

And me? I will perch right in the middle of this warm, messy, beautiful chaos. Just breathing it in. Letting the soft glow of the people around me settle into me. Feeling the safety of this home, this land, this moment. It’s a kind of peace you can't explain, you just know.

There’s a deep spiritual hum in the air tonight. One of those nights where you feel the veil between past and present stretch thin. Where the ancestors feel close, watching, smiling, saying,

“Look at you. Look what you’ve built. Look how far you’ve come.”

 This will be True North's first Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving here isn't just a holiday; it is sacred. Not for the history, we all know that the story we have been taught is a white-washing of history at best. We honor the indigenous people who long before us called this home. For us it is a remembering, a grounding, a moment where the sacred and the silly collide: turkey checks every ten minutes, littles praying to the dessert gods, grownups doing the annual “Did we buy enough rolls?” panic, and beneath it all this undercurrent of love that feels older than us. I love these moments. This will be my first Thanksgiving meal I have prepared since I left my old life, and it feels holy. 

The land that welcomed us.
The home rising into itself.
The generations are growing stronger.
The safety I prayed for has finally settled in my bones.

Thanksgiving is almost here.
I can feel it all around me.
In the falling leaves.
In my own heartbeat.

And as I sit here, I keep thinking…

This is the life I once dreamed about.
This is the home I once prayed for.
This is the love I fought to reach.

And now?

Now it’s belongs to all of us.