Gardening: The humble plants that saved Thanksgiving

Hilary Groutage Smith
Salt Lake Tribune Columnist

Not a November passes that I do not reflect on the Thanksgiving I learned, out of season, exactly how important my garden is.

It was 1998. I had volunteered to cook dinner for colleagues with no family in town. The trouble started almost immediately when my editor gently reminded me I had also volunteered to work on the holiday. No matter. I was certain I could cook dinner, go to work and be back in time to host my co-workers at an early evening meal.

Things went south in a hurry.

I enlisted my former sister-in-law, a young, energetic redhead who was always willing no matter what harebrained garden or household adventure I was dumb enough to engage in. We had the collective sense to first consult her mother, on whom I still rely when cooking for a crowd. The turkey was to be cooked the night before, along with all the side dishes. We would simply warm them just before dinner.

As the turkey roasted, Mandy and I decided to paint all the kitchen chairs. By 1 a.m., we had made 10 visits to the local grocery. At 2 a.m., we discovered that the cooking bag -- provided at no cost with the free-range, overpriced turkey -- had melted. We peeled it off, sliced the bird and fell into bed about 4:30 a.m.

I came downstairs the next morning at the moment my dog disappeared through his doggie door, backward, with the last pumpkin pie in his mouth. The only evidence of the others were pie plates, licked clean and sitting in the middle of the lawn.

After my shift, which involved visiting bars to find people celebrating the holiday while playing pool and drinking beer, I drove frantically from store to store until I found the last frozen pumpkin pie in Davis County.

Then I returned home and realized there was no centerpiece for the table.

The lack of something beautiful to look at while eating is a big deal if you're serving a turkey that might taste like plastic.

Stores were closed, so I did what any stressed gardener would: I fled to the yard. Through snow and rain, I clipped Oregon grape, juniper, bright red dogwood twigs and some lavender, far past its prime. After a minute with a hair dryer, the clippings were arranged around a candle and down the center of the table. The "decorations" were the best part of the meal, I'm sure.

My humble garden, put to bed for the winter and long forgotten, saved the party.

Never stop being thankful for those sturdy woody plants of the garden, which stand strong and beautiful outside all winter long -- even when so many things go wrong inside the house.