Time to Talk, with Mary Magee: Air is crisp, cider’s hot; it’s time for annual Turkey Trot
It was a crisp day with blue skies and temperatures in the upper 30’s. My friends, Larry and Carolyn Curles, invited a bunch of us to their home on Fox Island for their annual Thanksgiving Turkey Trot.
On the drive there, the morning sun shone on an apple tree empty of leaves but full of fruit and chattering birds. A sense of plenty in the cold. Crossing the Fox Island bridge, I looked west over the navy-blue waters of Hale Passage to see Mount Rainier looking gauzy, but still revealing its familiar shape. To the east the southern ridge of the Olympics was purple.
Larry, a true gentleman, greeted me in their driveway. He’s an unassuming man with a dry sense of humor, who makes sure everyone is looked after. Folks came spilling out of the house in their parkas, woolen hats, mittens, and sturdy shoes. Carolyn, our vivacious, kind hostess, announced that this was their 18th annual Turkey Trot! We all cheered, while she gathered us together for a group picture. Then the exercise began.
I fell in step with a couple of women friends, and we quickly noticed that those up ahead were not trotting but galloping! Matching their pace would surely give me shin splints — I knew this from prior experience. The walkers spread out and headed in different directions. Fox Island is hilly, so any direction you go will eventually take you up and down, but where the Curles live you can manage some decent walking on the flat.
After going a few blocks, we were debating about which direction to head when we slowed to greet fellow trotters Robin Dower, her son Brian, daughter-in-law Lonnie, and baby girl Sumi. We gushed over little Sumi who was adorable, so alert, wearing jammies and smiling at us. Then we were off again.
I walked with Pat Harrington, a dear friend for many years. She and her husband Jim helped me after my bike accident last summer. We shared stories about our health, our grown children, and our plans for Thanksgiving dinner. My husband and I would attempt a Julia Child roast duck recipe. Pat described the year they ordered a turkey that was stuffed with a chicken and a duck. When carving it, they got a decadent selection of layered meats.
We walked a respectable distance, then returned to base camp, the Curles’ home, which sits on an exquisite property, with views of the water and Key Peninsula. Guests were gathered about in stocking feet, their hair rumpled and faces ruddy from the walk. The dining room table, draped in a festive tablecloth, held an abundance of snacks: quiche, taco sticks, sweet breads, fruit plates, muffins, cheeses and barbecued meatballs.
The snack plates were gold trimmed with autumn leaves and the words “Gather Together.” Carolyn’s coffee cups had scenes depicting Norman Rockwell paintings. The fireplace was ablaze and relaxing nearby were Katharine Curles and her significant other, Kyle, home for the holiday. Katharine and Karin Pearson were looking over their middle-school yearbook from many years ago while Karin’s sweet, rosy-cheeked toddler, Anna, leaned into her mother. At the first Turkey Trot, these women were teenagers.
In the kitchen, the television showed Macy’s Thanksgiving parade in progress. People sipped coffee, cider, and cocoa, laughing as a group of macho male dancers mugged for the camera.
The Curles’ annual gathering really signifies the meaning of tradition at a time when tradition anchors us to the things that matter most, family, friends, kindness, and generosity. What an excellent way to begin the holidays.
Reach Mary Magee at marymagee@harbornet.com
This story was originally published December 4, 2019 at 12:00 AM.