For most all of us, Thanksgiving Day has its own rhythm, a family gathering replete with a sumptuous turkey dinner, football on TV and maybe dozing off stuffed, in an overstuffed chair after desert.

My grandfather always hosted New Year’s Day Lunch. Mother and my aunt took turns preparing Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings. Of the four grandsons, stepped down in two-year increments, I was the oldest followed by my brother Ken, and cousins Tony and Mike Furgueson. New Year’s Day lunch featured the first rite of passage to adulthood, a moving up ritual. Originally we four were seated at a card table in Gramp’s parlor. As the years went by, one at a time we were promoted to the dining room table, our first real taste of adulthood.

Rarely in my 85 years do I remember the Thanksgiving Day celebration occurring in a place other than a home setting!

Thanksgiving Day 1956, I was serving aboard the Destroyer USS Abbot (DD- 629) with my brother, Ken, patrolling in the Eastern Mediterranean with another US Destroyer and two British Destroyers. Nasser had blocked the Suez Canal and things were tense in the area. Two days before Thanksgiving we fueled from the aircraft carrier Coral Sea. We took on mail, supplies and fresh movies by high line. We had sailed from Newport, RI, November 6th. The turkeys and the makings of Thanksgiving dinner, the movies and ice cream came aboard compliments of the carrier.

We were on station Thanksgiving Day. Without missing a beat, the ship’s cooks and wardroom stewards put on one of the best turkey dinners I can ever remember, complete with all the vegetables, stuffing, pies and ice cream 300 hungry sailors, chiefs and officers could devour.

I was the luckiest guy aboard. I got to eat my dinner with my brother and several other officers off watch, and had a chance to view most of “Casablanca” before heading to the bridge to relieve the OOD.

Four times at Andover, my parents came up to celebrate Thanksgiving and once several years ago we celebrated at our golf club on Long Island.

The year, 2011, would be different. The older I get, the more I dread occasions that interrupt a comfortable routine. With our son Graham and his family living right next door, I assumed that the special day would be like last year and the year before, four grandchildren buzzing in and out of our house, a fire going and a late afternoon dinner next door with Dorothy and daughter-in-law Paulette sharing the preparations.

Graham announced the week before Thanksgiving that he had made reservations at a farm an hour’s drive north in Connecticut. Why? I thought, but didn’t ask. I didn’t want to be branded old “fuddy-duddy,” a euphemism for “stick in the mud or worse!”

I quietly Googled the Golden Lamb Buttery, Bush Hill Road, Brooklyn, CT. My curiosity got the better of me. I learned that Bob and Virginia “Jimmie” Booth opened the Buttery in 1963. Jimmie was a civil engineer and worked at Pratt and Whitney during WWII. She later became a buyer for Lord and Taylor in NYC and Europe before becoming the Buttery’s chef. Bob, the owner, was a Navy fighter pilot in WWII and owner of Hillandale Handweavers. In 2008 their granddaughter Katie Bogert became the proprietor.

Quoting from the brochure, “In the quiet corner of Connecticut lies the quaint New England town of Brooklyn. High on a hill, a secret hideaway called “The Golden Lamb” is nestled among thousands of acres of pristine fields and stone walls – for those who have a flair for the finest.”

Rarely does similar prose prove to be accurate. In this case, if anything the description proved to be understated. I found myself warming to the prospect of Thanksgiving off site!

We drove about an hour from our home in Essex arriving an hour early for our 4:30pm dinner reservation (2nd sitting). Graham and Paulette and the four grandchildren had gone ahead. As we turned off the main road and headed up the long approach to the large red barn at the top of the hill we passed through acres of fields dotted with cows, sheep and horses grazing.

The barn’s deck commands a scenic view of the pond and acre upon acre of neatly trimmed fields sloping in every direction.

The barn is filled with antiques, memorabilia and family treasures. Cocktails were served as guests arrived and congregated in various seating areas in the spacious barn. A piano player added to the festive atmosphere. Just prior to being seated for dinner the guests were treated to an old-fashioned hayride complete with a female guitarist.

Dinnertime! We were led through a tiny 1950’s kitchen, where our dinner was being prepared, to our table in the largest of three dining rooms. A roaring fire and coveys of attentive waitresses set about serving an incredible dinner with special soups and an array of homegrown vegetable treats to go with a choice of turkey or lamb and a fine selection of wines and deserts that made calorie counters jettison their regimens.

The charming, talented lady guitarist went from table to table playing requests from Kern to present day songwriters.

Just as I recalled earlier, the rite of passage I experienced, when I was very young and was promoted to the grownup’s table, so too did the three grandsons also experience their own rite of passage that night.

Bradley, age ten excused himself to go to the bathroom shortly after finishing his dinner. Everyone else at the table was either talking or downing the last delicious bites of dinner.

There was a lull in the conversation. I asked the guitarist to play, “Till There Was You.” I noticed that Bradley had returned and was whispering something in older brother Graham’s (age 12) ear. They excused themselves and motioned to Duncan age 7 to follow them. We paid little attention, as the guitarist was still entertaining.

Son Graham after an interval excused himself and went to see what the three boys were up to. On his way through the kitchen, Katie the proprietor stopped him and apologized. Before she could stop them, the three boys had slipped into the small men’s room just off the kitchen usually reserved for the kitchen workers. She said that they were still in there, and that they should have been directed to the men’s room in the waiting area.   The kitchen was so busy that no one had time to stop them!

I arrived as Katie was explaining to Graham what had occurred. The boys emerged snickering and giggling. Graham summoned the three. I faded into the background and witnessed as an animated discussion took place with Graham leading in the huddle.

I suddenly remembered my earlier trip to the same bathroom, and the picture directly over the toilet. Of course, I had “hardly” noticed the portrait of the naked lady looking away with her back facing me directly, as I went about my business. She was leaning on her left elbow, half-turned and looking away, allowing an unobstructed view of her perfectly formed, ample left breast tantalizingly suspended, capped by a moist, rosy-red nipple.

I was not privy to what was said in the huddle! Whatever it was happened after the fact. No penalties were assessed. A rite of passage had occurred. The story will be told and told again and again as they grow older. Thanksgiving Day 2011 was a wonderful happening, one none of us will forget! Thank you, Katie!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! George S.K. Rider

P.S. Dorothy purchased a book authored by Katie, The GOLDEN LAMB Buttery, A 50th Anniversary Collection of Memories, History, Photos & Recipes, published after our wonderful Thanksgiving Day 2011.

Katie’s grandmother, Jimmie Booth, was also an artist. Her sketches are evident throughout the restaurant. Katie writes, “One of them she painted, ‘The Nude in the Men’s Room’ has a long list of customers who would like the painting if we ever decide to part with it. (Which will never happen!) The comments of men and boys alike as they exit the bathroom always make us laugh! We suspect that the nude may have unintentionally started conversation about “the birds and the bees” between some of the younger boys and their parents on their ride home. Katie quotes in her book, “One Thanksgiving we had a lovely family, with three young boys, join us for dinner. One of the boys used the bathroom and rushed back to report his amazing finding to his brothers. Suddenly they all needed to use the bathroom!”

The Buttery should be a must stop for anyone living in or passing through the area. On your visit, stay for lunch or dinner, and make sure to ask for Katie and pick up a copy of her book!

P.S.S. And, what Thanksgiving could be complete without an annual reading of my daughter Jenny’s favorite piece of mine… Thanksgiving Turkey Shoot 1944, a holiday full of Scotch, guns and slashed throats, and ultimately turkey salvation. We Riders put the fun in dysfunctional. Read and write on! 🙂

Thanksgiving Turkey Shoot 1944

https://redriderfi.wordpress.com/2010/11/21/thanksgiving-day-turkey-shoot-%E2%80%93-1944/