By Amanda Knox

Oma’s first Thanksgiving in the United States wasn’t much of a Thanksgiving. She shipped off before the end of Opa’s deployment in Germany, alone except for their first child, my uncle Mickey. She spent the unfamiliar American holiday in Seattle with Opa’s mom, and didn’t think much of it, because she didn’t think much of her mother-in-law, who was in the habit of demanding extra rent from Oma at the end of each month. Also, they served raw oysters, and Oma disliked having to pick the sand out of her teeth.

Oma’s next Thanksgiving was much better. Ironically, it was back in Germany. My mom Edda was born by this time, on the military base. Another military couple joined Opa and Oma’s little family for dinner, brought the turkey. Oma contributed what has become her signature dish: red cabbage spiced with clove and apple. Opa told her the story about the Mayflower and the Native Americans, and Oma, a history buff, drank it up. This time, the holiday felt like family, and reminded her of Erntedankfest, the harvest festival, when the first wines of the season were uncorked.

When Oma and Opa finally settled back in the US, Thanksgiving turned into the holiday Oma preferred above all others. Even more so than Halloween, for which she spent weeks decorating the house and sewing our costumes. Even more so than Christmas, when she lit the tree with candles and sang to us in German. Halloween and Christmas were big to-do’s. Thanksgiving, though…Thanksgiving punctuated the year, and symbolized everything Oma loves about the Fall.

The Fall is Oma’s favorite season. She likes the colors and the wind. She likes “to stand outside in a jacket and feel the wind blow my head around.” But even more than that, the Fall is about coming back into oneself. It’s about coming inside, taking stock of what went well and what didn’t. It’s about slowing down. Taking it easy. The world turns inward; the mind turns inward.

It means coming together as a family. That’s always been important to her. In post-WWII Germany, it was a matter of survival, keeping close to the people who would be there for you when it all came down to it. Oma wants to be a part of it, a part of us, always.

I asked Oma if she thought she was the reason all of her children settled down within walking distance of her. “No,” she said. “They stayed close because, like me, they like to come together. They like to find excuses to be together.” But of course, she didn’t seem to see that she’s our anchor.

This year, Chris and his family will be joining us for Thanksgiving. When I told Oma, and her watery eyes lit up. It was something astonishing because, for all our vast differences in life experience, Oma and I felt the same: grateful that our big, loud, happy, grumpy, old, young family was only getting bigger and better, closer and closer. We made it somehow. Thankfully.