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Few Thanksgivings pass without a thought of a past family tradition dating back to my childhood. On Thanksgiving night, we would pack into the family car and head out to, as some folks say, “the country.”
When we moved from Normandy Road to Sherwood Circle when I was in the fourth grade, we thought we were moving to “the country,” but amid pines, oaks and dogwoods, we were still in the city limits.
When we motored out S.C. 903 on those Thanksgiving nights years ago, we were in “the country,” the home of Mr. Willis Bethea.
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