Canadian Thanksgiving has a funny way of sneaking up on us. One minute we’re squeezing the last bit of sunshine out of summer days (and it’s been a great last two weeks), and the next, the air turns crisp, the leaves trade their greens for golds and reds, and we realize, oh right, it’s Thanksgiving. Somewhere between back-to-school chaos and the Halloween aisle that’s been up since August, it’s a holiday that doesn’t always get its due (and a disclaimer, I am a huge Christmas person, so nothing can really compete with that holiday).
South of the border, in late November, it’s a four-day event. Parade floats, football, turkey comas, shopping frenzies, and a near-Christmas-level sense of occasion. Up here, we get Monday off (if we’re lucky) and maybe a turkey dinner sandwiched between yard work and Costco runs. But if you slow down just enough, there’s something quietly special about our version. It’s less about spectacle, more about reflection. And that feels right.
Maybe that’s what I appreciate the most about Thanksgiving: it’s understated. It permits you to pause without the pressure to perform.
This year, that pause feels especially welcome.
Perspective and Gratitude
We live in an incredible time. That’s not to say it’s perfect, far from it, but when I take a step back and really think about it, I’m struck by how fortunate we are. Clean water from the tap, grocery stores full of food, family and friends to share good times and memories with, technology that connects us instantly, healthcare that keeps us well, and a society that, while messy, still leans toward good. I would say it generally fulfills those three foundational layers of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.
It’s easy to get lost in the noise. The news, the grind, the endless list of “shoulds.” But Thanksgiving is one of those rare weekends that nudges me back toward perspective.
I think of my wife and kids, who keep me humble and very aware of my role as the “out of touch” dad. Whether it’s my music taste, my phone habits, or my questionable fashion choices, they never hesitate to remind me that my cool factor expired sometime pre-2000. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Their laughter, their energy, their humour, and their constant ability to keep me grounded are gifts I never take for granted.
Traditions Big and Small
We’ve got a few family traditions that mark this season. One is our annual trip to Great Lakes Farms, where the apple trees are abundant and the cider and turnovers disappear faster than anyone will admit. The apples (Golden Delicious are my favourite) never disappoint, although this year, it’s likely to be Jenn and me. The idea of going through a pumpkin patch or getting their height measured against a cutout farmer doesn’t hold the same appeal to the kids as it once did. Ahh, how life does evolve, and yes, for the better.
And then there’s our final annual trek to Shaw’s Ice Cream in St. Thomas. It’s a non-negotiable (as are the other 4-5 times/year). I get one last cone (yes, big scoops) of their Country Pumpkin and Caramel Apple ice cream before saying goodbye to the place until next spring. It’s part dessert, part ritual. A sweet, chilly farewell to another year’s worth of adventures.
Those moments, simple, even predictable, are what I look forward to most. Not grand plans, just the quiet cadence of family, food, and fall.
The Changing Season
Fall has this way of blending beauty with transition. Nothing lasts forever. Every year, we see trees that remind us that change doesn’t have to be loud. It can be graceful, even necessary. The colours across Southwestern Ontario right now are stunning, if not yet at peak. Probably in another week or two. Fiery reds, golden yellows, and deep oranges, and they don’t last long. Maybe that’s what makes them special.
Earlier this week, the Harvest Moon lit up the night sky. There’s something ancient about it, a quiet reminder of the harvest season and the simple fortune of having food on the table. I don’t think about that enough. I don’t know if any of us do.
Under the Stars
Most nights, before everyone turns in, I take our Golden Retriever, Nova, out for her last walk. Well, it’s usually more of a lie down on the front lawn for her. She’s loyal, ever watchful, and blissfully unaware of how good she has it. There’s something calming about that routine, chasing a leaf or grabbing a stick (yes, her, not me), the chill in the air, her golden coat and big brown eyes reflecting in the moonlight.
I usually end up looking up at the sky. On a clear night, I can recognize a few constellations, a planet or two, and that same bright moon that farmers and dreamers have looked at for centuries. And in that moment, I’m always struck by the same thought: we’re so small, and so lucky.
It’s easy to forget that. To get caught up in emails, meetings, or the hundred tiny frustrations that fill a week. But when I stand there in the quiet, the world feels impossibly vast, and it’s hard not to be grateful for all I have.
A Grateful Pause
So this Thanksgiving, maybe more than others (age has a way of causing more reflection, I find), I’m going to enjoy the long weekend and all the experiences that come with it. The shorter days, the slower pace, the gratitude that comes from looking around instead of ahead.
We may not have the pageantry of American Thanksgiving, but maybe that’s what makes ours special. It’s quieter. More personal. It’s about the warmth of home, the laughter of family, and the countless things we take for granted until we stop and really see them.
As I watch the leaves fall and the season turn, I’m reminded just how lucky I am to live where I do, to do work that I enjoy, to have a family that I love, and to share it all in a country that, despite its flaws, gives us so much.
Here’s to the overlooked holiday. To simple meals, family time, chilly walks, and skies full of stars.
Turns out, Thanksgiving doesn’t need fireworks or fanfare, just good food, good company, and maybe one more scoop of pumpkin ice cream.
Happy Thanksgiving.