Indian Pudding for Thanksgiving

National Indian Pudding Day was November 13. NPR did a piece about it:

I had not previously realized that there was such a thing as a National Day for this purpose, but, as a New England native, I was certainly a fan of Indian pudding. We make a recipe that came to us from my husband’s Great-Aunt Gert. We aren’t sure from whom she received the recipe, but we know it is an old one.

I made it earlier this fall when I went out to visit my college roommate and her husband in Colorado. They had never had it before but enjoyed it. Today, we made a batch to have as part of our Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. We like to make it the day before serving, as the molasses flavor intensifies after it has set for a day in the refrigerator and is then re-heated to serve with vanilla ice cream. Besides, given that the pudding needs to bake for two hours, it is impractical to do it along with the turkey, dressing, baked squash with apple, and onions that also are vying for oven space.

Here is (at least the first draft of) my poem in honor of Indian Pudding:

Making Aunt Gert’s Indian Pudding

The recipe calls for butter the size of an egg,
Conjuring the image of scooping butter
From the crock in the creamery,
Instead of slicing a few tablespoons
From a stick of Land ‘o Lakes.

Simple and New-England-frugal,
no spices are required,
That expense unnecessary
Due to the wonders of molasses,
Slow-baked and intensified.

The summer corn
Stored as meal and
The fresh milk from the cows
Meld to warm us in the chill of Thanksgiving,
Honoring our New England roots.


The TSA screener at BGM was very efficient and very personable, which was nice at 5AM. I don’t fly often and enjoy sitting in window seats so I can look out. I was supposed to be in the back corner, but an older gentleman was in my seat and asked if he could stay. I guessed he wanted to sleep, so I let him stay there. I was still able to see out a bit as we moved from the (nearly) full moon and starlight to the horizon starting to show orange and pink as we continued. It was a chilly morning with lots of valley fog. I forget that fog has ridges and bumps when you see it from above.

I have my journal with me, so thought I’d share a poem with an aviation theme. I wrote this on November 2, 2012, as we began our journey to Hawai’i to attend our daughter’s wedding.

Landing Gear

Nestled beneath the Dash 8’s wing
Watching the spokes disappear
in the blur of acceleration
The arm extends
Allowing one last moment of contact
Then gracefully folds and retreats

I am airborne.