A Thanksgiving Nighthawk

Vol. 180, November 25th, 2025 Published a day early online

Cheese(y) Turkey

Aw, shucks, folks. If I were a Thanksgiving dish, I’d be a cheesy turkey. Of course, we don’t need Thanksgiving to imagine that.

The antique clock chimes seven on the bookshelf. After breakfast and coffee, I gather a stack of books or a crate of records, and head off into the bright sunshine to see you guys. What a blast. What a blessing. This Thanksgiving, I’m toasting all the good times we get to spend together: at the music programs, our history explorations, or by writing each other letters.

I passed a stranger in the hall last week. She had a copy of The Nighthawk. “Hope you enjoy” I said. Oh this is fun.

What started as a letter to friends during COVID has turned into this paper: a way for people to connect, and a reminder (especially to me) that folks are only one note away. I go wandering the mountains, gathering the wind or watching the leaves kick up by the night train. You tell me moonshine stories, or how you saw Elvis, or that time you set up chairs at the Stanley Brothers concert. Then we write it all here. It keeps the stories going, and the traditions remembered.

So, thanks for reading. Thanks for writing. Thanks for being part of this tapestry of good people doing good work.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Water Under The Bridge

Another Thanksgiving draws near, and another autumn flows down to the lake. It’s been a beautiful season this year.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Granny Woman (midwife). “It’s almost her time. I told her to get the granny woman.”

Move Over, Plymouth

Records cite John Woodlief’s landing in Virginia, 1619 as the first Thanksgiving.

Spin Some Bach

Stressed? Play some Bach. Relaxed? Try the same. Dig his Concerto in A minor, BWV 1065. It’s superb.

The Good Word

“This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Psalm 118:24, KJV

A Place To Write Back

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect: neighbors writing neighbors. We’re real people, with real things to say. Does one of our stories remind you of one of yours? Drop a line: P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #260)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc.: A Thanksgiving Toast

Howdy, folks, and welcome to the show. Happy Thanksgiving! Pass the pumpkin pie–or as I call it, the plate for the Reddi-Whip. But first, a toast.

Let’s set the scene in our imaginations: a gracious table, laden with some Hallmark movie feast. Everyone is there (you too, of course). Candles burn low. The air is heavy with the scent of all the spices and a hint of pecan. Outside the window, the dusk settles on the blue ridge mountains. We’ve put a dent in the smorgasbord, but before we fetch another helping of dessert, I stand up with a toast. It seems fitting, in this pretend land where I can cook everything and not burn anything. This is silly and pretend. The toast I’d propose, however, is real, and works with or without an imaginary dinner.

“Friends, we gather today to celebrate a bounty, each other’s company, and God’s grace for another year. We’ve got blessings to count and challenges that we’re meeting. Things aren’t perfect–but they never are. It’s this imperfection that I’d like to mention.

Maybe it makes your good works possible, or at least visible to the rest of us. In the face of the struggle, the darkness, the “ick”–you choose to “brighten the corner where you are.”

Sometimes the act is dramatic: suffering friends ministering to suffering friends in a nursing home. Sometimes it’s generous: sending a friend a letter with a worthy story: a small paying of attention to the good things. Sometimes it’s funny, or serious, or difficult. You do these things, and things get better.

Through wanderings in the world, and even with these writings, I’ve met a lot of admirable neighbors. We don’t always live in the same town, but our actions bind us together, little keepers of the flame in corners everywhere. It’s a special delight to compare notes. Doesn’t it feel like we’re a small but growing band of dissidents, refusing to be snuffed by some shadow?

We’ve got endless job security. The world needs all the bright corners it can get. It is for your good work that I’m especially grateful for this Thanksgiving. It’s a joy we can work together.

It reminds me of the time that...(At this point in our imaginary scene, Uncle John rocks back in his chair, and Cousin Al raises an eyebrow.)

Oh, and yes. Thanks for keeping me in line. Happy Thanksgiving, all. I’m so grateful. As that old Irving Berlin song goes: Let’s have another cup of coffee and another piece of pie.

Catch you on the flip side,

Josh

Send Thanksgiving tales and leftovers to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588

Chatting with a friend on the C’Dogs Podcast the other week.