Gratitude – by Gates McKibbin

Thanksgiving 2012

Years ago my mother sent me a thank you card with a line on the front I’ll never forget: “Gratitude is the memory of the heart.” I still have her note, and the message it expressed remains with me as clear as it was the day it arrived.

In this season of Thanksgiving I have been revisiting what my own heart remembers.

As I reviewed myriad sources of gratitude, something unexpected occurred to me. I realized that until I moved to Jacksonville, few of my first rate memories involved my being part of a community. Rather, they were mostly about something I did on my own or with very close friends and family.

Now I have a whole new reason to be grateful. It is called community.

Thanksgiving here in Jacksonville last year provides a case in point. A splendid evening resulted from minimal planning, maximum cooperation – and not a shred of pretense.

It all happened because a month earlier my friends Frank DeLuca and Ken Gregg closed escrow on the Eagle Saloon and Brewery (formerly Eugene Bennett’s home). They had set up temporary living arrangements with a bit of borrowed furniture and whatever they could bring here in a couple of carloads from Carmel. Needless to say, it was bare bones.

A group of our friends had been tossing around the idea of getting together for Thanksgiving dinner, and we wanted to welcome Ken and Frank into the community by inviting them as well. Then it occurred to us that our preferred venue would be their saloon room, which had an open area that could accommodate a table long enough for an inclusive guest list.

The only issue – not a minor one – was that everything we needed for the dinner would have to be brought in: dishes, flatware, napkins, tables, chairs and candles for starters, not to mention plentiful food and wine. No problem! The meal could be more like a festive picnic than a formal banquet.

There is nothing like saying, “We’d like to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner – at your house.” But that is exactly what we did. Ken and Frank agreed immediately to host the event. After one round of emails, potluck contributions for a multi-course meal had been agreed upon and people were volunteering to bring whatever else was needed.

First to be delivered were the banquet tables. Ken placed two of them end-to-end, covered them in brown paper and topped it off with a table runner made of vintage wallpaper. So much for the tablecloth. Frank plugged in an electric “fireplace” heater for atmosphere and placed outdoor café chairs around it to form a conversation grouping. We arranged pumpkins and candles on the table, and declared ourselves good to go.

As people arrived we put them to work, unfolding chairs and devising a buffet table. Out came the appetizers, which we noshed on as we chatted and assembled place settings. Everything happened on the fly, but the end result was magnificent. Each and every one of us had made it that way, though I must admit, the glimmer of candlelight on the crystal stemware helped as well.

Our thoroughly improvisational gathering, which required everyone to contribute everything, led to an outpouring of shared joy. When we seated ourselves around our “farmhouse” table to indulge in a delicious repast made possible by us all, we raised our glasses to toast our togetherness at Thanksgiving, in Jacksonville.

Somewhere along the line someone decided to open the shutters on the front windows. Soon we noticed that the people who were walking by stopped to look in on the warmth and fellowship. Between dinner and dessert we popped outside ourselves to take a peek, and marveled at how the room glowed with life and light. Our celebration had spilled out into the community and back in again.

We talked and ate, laughed and ate, shared stories and ate. Assorted friends who had celebrated Thanksgiving elsewhere stopped by for dessert. We listened to an irreverent poetry reading, laughing all the while, and sat reminiscing for a very long time.

As we were preparing to depart, reluctantly, someone commented that this was by far the best Thanksgiving he had ever experienced. Then another chimed in, agreeing unequivocally.

I realized that I, too, had just enjoyed the very best Thanksgiving, in this community I call home. We had created it together, with a spirit of openness, generosity and caring.

Gratitude is a “habit of the heart” here in Jacksonville, to borrow a phrase from Alexis de Tocqueville. We are blessed to be here. We are blessed to have each other. We live in thanksgiving every day. I for one give thanks to those who have grown so dear to me in this lovely and loving community.

Photos: Whitman Parker and Ken Gregg

Posted November 27, 2013