I thought y’all might want a peek into what’s going on in Chalybeate Springs this Thanksgiving. Come with me, and we’ll start with a look into Carrie Parker’s kitchen.

“Gracious alive! You young’uns get out from here and let me get some cookin’ done,” Carrie fussed. Her three grandchildren – Ray Ray, and the twins Sissy and Nubbin – had been underfoot every five minutes, it seemed, as Carrie put together the fixings for their Thanksgiving dinner. Since Jewel had been their only surviving parent and was now considered “missing, presumed dead” by the police, the children had come to live with Carrie in her old farmhouse on the Little Warrior River.

“But, Granny,” Ray Ray whined, “we’re starvin’. Can’t we just have a taste or two?”

“I’ll give y’all a taste, all right,” Carrie responded, waving a large wooden mixing spoon. “A taste of this spoon across y’all’s backsides, if’n you don’t get a move on! The more y’all interrupt what I’m doin’, the longer it’s gonna take.” Her last sentence prompted a mass exodus, and the screen door banged shut behind them. Carrie bustled to the door and hollered, “And y’all best not get dirty! We ain’t got time for baths and changin’!”

With the thermometer at 72, it was a tad warm for the end of November, but then again, in Alabama, the weather was always unpredictable. Which is why it was no surprise for Carrie to see her Encore® azaleas mixing their array of colors with the remaining red, orange, and gold foliage of autumn. Carrie smiled at the beauty of God’s creation, then headed back to the stove to check the two humongous turkeys she suspected were about ready to come out of the oven.

Two more sizeable turkeys, securely covered in aluminum foil, sat in cardboard boxes on the kitchen table, and around them, an array of foil-covered dishes were fitted snugly into more boxes which Carrie had packed wadded newspaper around to keep anything from sliding.

Today was a very special Thanksgiving, and, in spite of an ache in her heart for her only child, Jewel, Carrie was planning the Thanksgiving wingding of wingdings, and she had a heap more cooking to do before she loaded the back of her pickup and she and the grandkids headed into Chalybeate Springs to Whiter Than Snow.

Whiter Than Snow, the free laundromat operated by volunteers from Chalybeate Springs Community Church, along with other local folks, had become a hub of activity for many of the newcomers to Chalybeate Springs, and particularly to those unfortunates who had rented rundown trailers from slum lord Horace Brumley at Chalybeate Mobile Home Park. Unlike many of the well-kept parks around the area, Horace’s park was a rundown slum.

Broken windows had cardboard duct-taped over them. A few had flimsy pieces of paneling or thin plywood covering the openings. Weeds grew high, and the whole place reeked with the depressing atmosphere of hopelessness. Brumley charged exorbitant rates to his tenants, knowing their finances and credit positioned them as easy prey. Most had been turned down elsewhere multiple times before resigning themselves to life in that place of squalor.

Because of the lack of laundry facilities, and the outrageous overages charged by Brumley to anyone who dared use the washer or dryer included in some of his rentals, Whiter Than Snow had drawn the mobile home park people like a magnet.

Those who came were required to attend an onsite Bible study, but optional classes included ESL (English as a Second Language), as well as tutoring and care for the attendees’ children. Somehow, this mishmash of newcomers and volunteers had melded into a family.

Now that all her grandkids were in school and her financial status had improved to the point she didn’t have to spend every waking moment making the clay “doodads” that had brought her such recognition as a folk artist, Carrie loved volunteering at Whiter Than Snow. “I’d always been on the receivin’ end of help,” Carrie had said. “The Lord has blessed me so I can bless others, and that’s just what I intend to do.”

And bless she had. Her little pickup truck could often be seen at Whiter Than Snow, and she’d come to know and love so many of the regulars, like me, my cousin Millie, Carlos and Rosa Moncado, Kiki Roberts, Quon and Mai Nguyen, Kenny Mankiller, Shonda Johnson, and Bree McIntyre. Ray Ray, Sissy, and Nubbin adored Carlos and Rosa, and Ray Ray, now eleven, was learning from Carlos, my husband Larry, and Millie’s husband Bill as they worked in the storage and repair area in the back of the building. Here, machines were repaired, salvageable parts were stockpiled, and donated washers and dryers were received.

Today, Carrie was making Thanksgiving dinner for the whole Whiter Than Snow family. Even though Millie and I, and several others, had offered to help with everything, the only thing Carrie would allow anyone else to do was furnish paper goods, tea, and coffee. “The rest,” she’d said, “is on me.”

At only 45 years old, Carrie had been through more struggles than most folks experience in a very long lifetime, but she’d come through it all a stronger person with an unwavering faith in her Savior. Her light brown hair now had a stylish cut and highlights, thanks to the skills of Lisa Noles, a soon-to-be graduate of Bevill State Community College’s School of Cosmetology. Nail artist Kiki had already graduated and gone to work at Cheveux, a classy salon owned by her cousin Walter’s wife, Diamond Purifoy.

Working in clay most days, a manicure was something Carrie only indulged in for rare occasions, but on this special day, Carrie had gone on all out. Kiki had done her nails in bright red and added decals of turkeys and Pilgrims’ hats. Which was precisely why Carrie had been wearing gloves for most of the last two days. “I near ‘bout slept in them gloves,” Carrie later remarked when we were helping her unload her truckload of delectables.

Larry and Bill had cleared the tables in the children’s room, adult classroom, and laundry area, and Millie, I, and a host of others had covered them with turkey-themed tablecloths and set out plenty of plates, cups, and utensils. Carrie had designated three long tables across the back wall of the adult classroom as “where to put the vittles,” and a parade of folks hauled in dishes from Carrie’s truck as she directed traffic to get all the food sorted into categories.

“Put them rolls down there with the corn muffins,” Carrie instructed. “And don’t nothin’ but desserts go on the end of that last table.”

Ice in the glasses, food on the tables, the Whiter Than Snow group stood around chattering excitedly. “Carrie,” Larry said, “why don’t you do us the honor of asking the blessing.”

“I’d be right proud to,” Carrie said quietly.

A hush fell over the room, and Carrie began in a soft voice choked with emotion. “Lord Jesus,” she said, “never in a million years would I’da thought I’d be blessed enough to offer up this meal to all my newfound friends. It’s kindly like the loaves and fishes, ain’t it? I didn’t have much of nothin’, but what I did have, I trusted to you. And look what you done with it! How I thank you!”

“And how I thank you for this bunch of folks who love you like I do. How I thank you for trustin’ me with my three grand-young’uns. Bless this food. Bless these folks. And thank you, Jesus, for all you’ve done for us. Lord, we’re so, so grateful. Amen.”

More than a few tears were shed during that prayer, and I even saw Bill slip off into the hallway just before I heard some pretty loud nose-blowing. I don’t think it was his allergies.

Once everyone had loaded their plates and found seats, I stood and rang a small silver bell I’d brought for the occasion. “I was planning to clink my fork on my glass to get y’all’s attention, but then I realized that wouldn’t work with Styrofoam and plastic.” That brought a round of laughter from around the room.

“But while we’re eating, I’d like to ask each table to pick a person to start off, and let each person say what they’re thankful for. I’ve already got my co-conspirators asking the folks in the other two rooms to do the same thing. And y’all just keep enjoying your meal while we do this. Millie, why don’t you start us off?”

“Well,” Millie said, “I’m thankful for all of y’all, especially my husband Bill.” Bill responded by leaning in and planting a kiss on her cheek. “And I’m thankful that Judy and I, and Art, Detective Metz, and Kiki’s cousin Walter all survived our ordeal this summer. And I’m so thankful for so much more than I can say right now, because I want to dig into this plate of Carrie’s delicious home cooking.”

Once the ball got rolling, it was tough to find a stopping point. Everyone had so much to be grateful for. As Kiki talked about her blessings, I thought about her cramped little rental trailer in Brumley’s park, her three- and five-year-old boys at the children’s table, and her almost four-month-old little daughter, Janetha, sleeping peacefully in Millie’s lap. Kiki had one more blessing she didn’t know about.

“Speaking of blessings,” I said, standing and moving toward the doorway, “there’s one more blessing we all need to be thankful for, but I think there are few people in here who are going to be especially excited about this one.”

With that, I rang my silver bell again and a handsome, dark-skinned man in Army camo stepped into the room. A shriek erupted from Kiki’s lips, and she shot from her chair, almost overturning the table.

“Marlon!” Kiki cried, rushing toward her husband as he hurried to wrap his arms around her. Another round of tears sprang forth, and we all cheered and applauded as the couple’ two boys joined the pandemonium.

“Daddy!” five-year-old Marcus shouted, launching himself into the air as his father reached to catch him. Little Marvin stood uncertainly and stared at the big man. “Daddy?” he said, uncertainly.

“Yes, I am, little man,” Marlon responded, and scooped up Marvin into a massive hug with Marcus and Kiki.

Smiling through her tears, Kiki stammered, “Who …? How …? When did you get here?”

“Baby, you’ve got some amazing friends,” Marlon told her. “I sent a message to Pastor Kevin, and asked if the church could help me surprise you on Thanksgiving. He got in touch with some of his church members, and two of them met me at the airport and brought me straight here.”

“You must be exhausted!” Kiki said. “I mean, all the way from Somalia?”

“You better believe it,” replied Marlon. “I’ve served my last day in this man’s army. I’m home for good. This last year has been the most miserable of my lifetime. Now will somebody kindly let me see my baby girl!”

Millie hurried over and placed Janetha in Marlon’s arms just as he eased the two boys down to the floor. This brought another round of cheers from all around the room, and then Carrie appeared at Marlon’s side, holding a mounded plate of her “vittles,” which Marlon was more than happy to dive into. Millie, Bill, Larry, and I found new places to sit, and the Roberts family sat down to a joyful Thanksgiving meal together.

How we all found room for desserts, I don’t know, but I managed a tiny sampling of sweet potato pie, chocolate walnut pie, and a strawberry pecan cake that reminded me so much of the one Larry’s mother used to make. The tough part now was getting up from the table.

“I need y’all to start makin’ plates,” Carrie said. “I ain’t carryin’ all this stuff back home with me, so y’all fix plates for y’selves, and help me put some together to carry to the homebound.”

It didn’t take long to get an assembly line going, and, in no time, we had mounds of plates wrapped in foil and stacked in boxes. “I wrote down all the addresses for the homebound folks, and I’ve divided it up by the part of town they live in, so if’n about four of y’all will make deliveries, the rest of us can get this food divided up.”

“Carrie, there’s still a lot of food,” said Kenny Mankiller. “Why don’t we make some more plates and carry them to the fire department and police department?”

“That’s a fine idea,” Carrie replied, oddly blushing under the stare of the good-looking Cherokee bachelor.

“Why don’t me and you take the police and firemen’s plates?” Kenny suggested.

“Well, I, uh, would,” stammered Carrie, “but I got so much to clean up here.”

“No, you don’t,” I told her. “Go on with Kenny. We’ve got this covered.”

Carrie’s glow would have lit the building. “Well, if you’re sure,” she said.

And that was the start of a beautiful friendship. The grandkids are crazy about Kenny, and he’s been taking them fishing and helping them hunt for arrowheads. He even told them that some of the arrowheads they found could very well have come from his own people.

Kiki and Marlon are house-hunting. Kiki saved every penny she could, and Marlon was stunned to learn how much money she’d managed to tuck away during his absence. As soon as Shonda Johnson heard him say he was out of the service for good, she handed Marlon one of her cards and introduced herself as the Human Resources manager for a local manufacturer. Looks like Marlon won’t be job-hunting for long.

Well, that’s only the highlights of what’s happening in Chalybeate Springs this season. Hope you enjoyed finding out a little more about the folks in and around there. I can’t wait to tell you what’s happening in Chalybeate Springs at Christmas.

END