Driving with six kids two and a half hours through the woods to grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving got old. So we informed our extended family we were staying put but they were welcome to join us.

My parents took us up on our offer. But alas my mother didn’t trust that I could cook a proper turkey. So she volunteered to bring the turkey. I would make the rest of the meal.

Now  my mother is indeed an excellent cook of anything that had feathers while it was still alive. And besides she wanted to contribute something to the meal. So I said yes even though the smell of roasting turkey is such a savory thing.

The first time, however, the kids and I were surprised when my father opened the trunk of their car and carried an aluminum pan of cut up turkey to the house. What no beautiful bird on the table?  Not this year.

One of the kids – I don’t remember which one – was the one who called it grandma’s trunk turkey. Of course, not to her face.

The name stuck.

I should say my mother was a school cafeteria lady. Serving food cut up in aluminum pans was part of the job.

Her trunk turkey, however, was delicious.

So it was grandma’s trunk turkey for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner if my parents came until we moved to Taos.