Growing up in Green River, I never traveled far for Thanksgiving. My grandparents often played host and lived in Rock Springs; it was a short 25 minute drive. Short, but not without drama. For some reason, the holiday always brought out the mischief in me and my brothers. Maybe it was because we were hungry.
My parents, in an effort to make sure we ate well at grandma’s house, kept things light Thanksgiving morning. We thought we were starving by the time we climbed inside the family car midafternoon with the delicious smelling food my mother and father had been preparing all morning. Th...
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