Happy Thanksgiving. The Family Prepares to Feast

Charles and Luella Williamson's First Thanksgiving as a Married Couple at the Mattson home in Spearfish, South Dakota. November 1957. Sitting at the table facing us is Elda Williamson (dad's mother), Luella Williamson, and Charles Williamson.  Kim is there somewhere. She was 4 months old at the time. I'm there as well but not visible (if you know what I mean). I was born in June 1958.

From the Fortress of Solitude

Pleasant Grove

Happy Thanksgiving!

     It's 9:47 A.M. here at the Fortress. I'm at my computer passing the time as I wait for the big feastorama about to take place at Ashley and Mike's home in Highland. 

     The family is growing in size as the years pass. We're expecting between 55 and 65 to be there, all decked out in their finest sweatpants with expandable, elastic waists.  
     Table discussions can turn heated with both the political right and left wings of the family under the same roof; not to mention the High Mormons, Middle Mormons, and Lost Mormons.  At such gatherings it is important we remind ourselves that we are a loving family that respects and cherishes diversity because diverse is what this family is, like so many others in our modern world.  I also take a moment to remind the political active that NO political discussions are allowed around Great Grandma Luella. Failure to comply will result in banishment from the dessert table and time out in the Decompression Room. 

     This year's Decompression Room will be the Costa's rarely used living room just off the family room. Diffusers will scent the room in a special DoTerra blend of fragrances tailored for family events like today's; think a green pasture surrounded by Ponderosa Pines with just a wisp of sunshine lingering in the air to help you ease quickly into your happy place.  Candles will decorate the room in dancing light. Music will tug at the ear with celestial melodies selected from tracks recorded by the Sisters of the Abbey of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. We didn't have a Decompression Room last year.  It made for a tough afternoon, leaving only the bathrooms or the cars as places of refuge. 

    This year we're taking a risk and letting the family choose where they sit to eat.  Normally we separate based on several factors. Conspiracy theorists, High Mormons, and those with an open mind usually make for good table fellows.  Democrats, Middle of the Way Mormons and the unaffiliated are good together.  The little ones have their own table, but tend to ignore the plates their mothers prepare. I see them sneak their way to the dessert table once the adults have their noses squarely in the feed trough.

     Today's choose where you want to sit approach will test the family's civility.  The standard used to judge whether the seating decision was a wise one or not will be based upon who is not speaking to whom at the end of the day. 

I'm looking forward to today's circus.

Victor

Uncle John Mattson. Great Man. Great Memories. A Son of the West.

In the heartland of America, under the vast and unending skies of Montana, a legend was born. John Mattson, a man of humble beginnings, would go on to leave an indelible mark on everyone his life touched. His story is a testament to the resilience and determination that defines those touched by the spirit of the frontier. Born in a simpler time, John took his first breaths in Montana, where the open plains stretch as far as the eye can see. He was raised on a dry sheep ranch. His childhood home was a converted chicken coop nestled in a quiet draw. It was a place where hard work and grit were as much a part of life as the sweeping vistas and the whisper of the wind through the sagebrush.

In those formative years, young John attended a one-room schoolhouse, a place where education was simple but enduring, much like the values instilled in him by his parents. It was here that he learned the importance of community, self-reliance, and the potential that could be unlocked through hard work and determination.

John Loved the Black Hills of Dakota

As he grew older, the Mattson family moved to Spearfish, South Dakota and to the Black Hills he grew to love. In this land of towering pines and pristine streams, John built a life with his beloved wife Bev by his side. Eventually their journey brought them to Utah where they raised their family. John was a devoted father and husband. He taught his children the same values he had learned on that sheep ranch, instilling in them a respect for the land, a strong work ethic, and an unwavering commitment to family.

Today, we pay tribute to John Mattson, my uncle. He passed away last week at the good age of 80. He walked the rugged path of life with courage and integrity. His life reminds us that the spirit of the West lives on in those who dare to dream, work hard, and love deeply - and in that legacy we find inspiration to carry on the traditions and values that have shaped us into who we are.

In the end, John was ready to "Fly Away". Waiting for him on the other side were his parents, his sister and brothers, and so many others wanting to celebrate his homecoming and to hear those stories of the ranch we all know so well.

I don't have many pictures of my uncle. I put what I do have into a slide show as a tribute to a life lived well and full.