Bless this meal and the hands that prepared it.

In the past two decades, my husband Dave and I have made seventeen thanksgiving meals in four different homes. Friends, family, and the occasional stranger have joined us, bringing appetizers, sides, and desserts. For the first time in many years, it will only be my husband and children at table with me for Thanksgiving. If Dave gives the blessing, today’s table grace words will be in it. The food and the hands that prepared it are both blessed because a meal doesn’t prepare itself…

The turkey comes from an East Coast family farm worked by people I’ll never meet.

The potatoes were grown and picked by Maine workers. The roasted vegetables and candied yams come from a CSA in Plymouth and many other places.

The stuffing brings together California growers, New England bakers, Vermont dairy farmers, and the herbs I grew in my own garden.

Cranberry sauce berries were grown and picked in my home town by hundreds of local employees. Pumpkin pie comes from Midwest farms, topped with whipped cream from Massachusetts dairies.

The wine and sparkling cider come from California, France, and New England. The recipes for all these delights come from many families, a few magazines, and the dog-eared pages of favorite cookbooks.

My husband, children, and I all help make Thanksgiving dinner, but we aren’t the only ones. I can’t imagine how many hands made my family feast possible, but I am grateful beyond words.