" "Come one, come all," said Uncle Duffy, the first time he hosted Thanksgiving at his family farm. And everybody came. Fifteen years later, everybody still comes: immediate family and extended family, in-laws and cousins of cousins, our second-grade teachers, even the occasional boyfriend who's here one year and not the next. Every November, our kooky band of almost 60 people bumps down the road to Uncle Duffy's 1890s farmhouse in Nesmith, South Carolina. The familiar drive promises a day full of throwing horseshoes, good-natured teasing from loud uncles, and a potluck dinner that puts you in a food coma.
"Whether we've known you for years or don't even know how you ended up at the farm, on Thanksgiving, you're part of the family."