When One Iowa Family Welcomed Refugees to the Table

On this episode of Our American Stories, when a group of refugees from Bosnia arrived at her Iowa church, Joy Neal Kidney watched them step carefully into a world that felt nothing like the one they had escaped. One family in particular carried the quiet weariness of people shaped by war, and Joy’s family decided to give them something familiar to hold onto: a Thanksgiving dinner. Joy joins us to tell the story of one remarkable Thanksgiving.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:24):
And we returned to our American stories. Up next, a
story from our regular contributor Joy Neil Kidney on an
unforgettable Thanksgiving with Bosni and refugees. Take it away, Joy.

Speaker 2 (00:43):
Joy. How long do you cook a turkey? Eleven year
old Janella called the evening before Thanksgiving several years ago.
It depends on how much it weighs. Well, how do
I weigh it? Chuck the bag it came in? It'll
tell you. I told her? Is it thought yet? Not yet?
But I've gotten water in the sink. Mom works tomorrow

(01:07):
on the holiday. But we've just got to have a
real Thanksgiving turkey dinner. What else are you having? You know, stuffing, gravy?
What shall I have Dad get at the store? I
listed onions, celery, and chicken broth. Oh, we need pumpkin
pie too. I'm going to eat some even if no

(01:29):
one else does. It's traditional. Why don't you just have
your dad get one at the store and get some
cool whip too. Oh, be sure to put the turkey
in the refrigerator overnight to be safe. Janella had arrived
in Iowa as a darling, dark eyed two year old

(01:51):
with her parents sawmyr in Slaka came to our church
in Iowa with other Bosnian war refugees for English classes.
Because of her parents' work schedules. I eventually became Janella's
band and drama grandma, getting her to practices, concerts, and plays.

(02:11):
That night, I worried about Janella's turkey getting thought in time,
and whether she'd even figure out how long to cook it.
So Thanksgiving morning, my husband and I headed to their
condo to check on things. The turkey had thawed nicely,
and Janella had located the pop up thermometer on it.
We set to work, making a timetable when to put

(02:32):
the turkey in the oven, the stuffing casserole, when to
make gravy. She got busy chopping celery and onions, making
cubes of some of her mother's chewy, homemade Bosnian bread.
She suspiciously sniffed the spices. Joy, this smells like Thanksgiving.
Can you and guys stay for my first turkey? Please? Please?

(02:57):
Samaran's guy, we're visiting in front of the tea. When
Samyor learned that our family dinner wouldn't be until the
day after Thanksgiving, he said, come come have American Thanksgiving
with us. So we did, but we came home first.
I rustled up ingredients for mashed potatoes, scalloped corn, and

(03:20):
a salad. By the time we arrived with our contributions,
their condo smelled wonderful, just like Thanksgiving. Zlaka was home
from work helping her daughter find a bowl for the gravy.
When her feast was ready, Janella called everyone to the table.
Two younger brothers had to tear themselves away from a

(03:42):
video game. You made this, kidded her father. This is good. Yep,
my very first turkey. What is this? He was skeptical
about the scalloped corn, corn crackers, and eggs. Oh, it's good.
You teach Janela. This okay for next year. Don't forget

(04:03):
to save room for pumpkin pie. Janella reminded us it's traditional.
She was the only one in her fifth grade who
had fixed her family's Thanksgiving meal. Since that first one,
she has always roasted the turkey. Back in those days,
she planned to go into some kind of medicine, maybe nursing,

(04:24):
But her junior year in high school she took a
culinary class. She was hooked. Throughout her senior year, she
took classes at the local community college and worked in
a restaurant. She graduated from culinary classes and was hired
full time by her former employer and has been working
steadily ever since. Soon this little chef fixed the whole

(04:47):
Thanksgiving feast for her extended family aunts, uncles, cousins, even
grandparents who have also immigrated here. Thankstipping dinner has always
been Janella's American specialty ever since fifth grade. A couple

(05:08):
of years later, Thanksgiving dinner was at Janella's aunt Georgia's.
She's an Iowa girl who married Janella's uncle, Olmir. In fact,
Almer's parents, who were about my age, were visiting that
year from Bosnia, so Aunt Georgia was in charge of turkey,
potatoes and a dessert. Since Janella loved fixing the turkey,

(05:29):
she helped at George's house. I invited her younger brother
Ottis to my place to help make pumpkin pie and
other side dishes. He was born in Iowa. When his
parents had been here just over a year, they'd asked
if I would accompany Zlaka through labor and delivery to
help with English. So I did. He was the first

(05:50):
birth I ever witnessed. After Ottus started school, I sort
of became his cub Scouts Grandma. We made cakes together
for fundraise zers, a ladybug, one that looked like a cheeseburger,
and even a prize winning alligator. We'd always decorated them
in his condo, so this was the first time we'd

(06:11):
cooked at my place. I had him crack four eggs
into a large bowl and started to hand him a
whisk to beat them. Then I remembered my son at
that age years ago, decided that an old fashioned egg
beater would be more fun for a ten year old boy.
It was especially when he was cranking away to flick

(06:34):
off the dribbles, flipping egg all over the counter. The
thing our cleanup rag was at the ready. He measured
the sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, after sniffing each one,
just like my son used to. Ottus liked the cinnamon.
Next came stirring while I opened cans of pumpkin and
evaporated milk. He scraped the pumpkin into the eggs. I

(06:59):
poured in the first can of milk, but he wanted
to do the second one himself. When all was mixed,
he ladled it into two pie shells while I explained
what custard is, and the pumpkin pie is one kind
of custard. I carried the filled pie shells on a
cookie sheet to the stove. The oven wasn't quite hot enough,

(07:20):
so I parked the pies and turned around to do
some counter clean up. There sat the bowl of the
nicely combined sugar and spices. I laughed, Oh dear, we
forgot the spices. Now what I just stirred into the pies?
Ottis suggested. I ended up pouring the pumpkin mix back
into a large bowl, leaving the sloppy edge on both

(07:43):
pie shells. While Ottis stirred in the spiced sugar. I
wiped off what I could from the edges of the
dough with a paper towel. Ladling had been too slow,
I guess. This time Ottis just halfed the big bowl
and poured the filling into the pie shells. By then
the oven was ready. He carefully carried the cookie sheet

(08:04):
with the pies to the stove, but he had me
lifted into the hot oven. Our pies are gonna look
kind of ugly, I said, Ah, they'll taste good anyway.
Those brown eyes twinkled. That was nice of him. Especially
since Bosnians hadn't gotten used to the daste of pumpkin pie.
I knew he wouldn't need any one hour to bake

(08:31):
a couple of hours to cool. We still had scallop
corn stuffing and green bean cassele to make. Ottus crushed
crackers for the corn. I like my corn plane, he admitted, Oh, well,
he'd at least enjoy Aunt George's mashed potatoes and gravy.
I showed him the checklist of what all we were

(08:53):
having for the feast and which relative was bringing what food,
such as his mother's Bosnian bread. Indeed, Ottis didn't eat
one single thing that he had helped make for the festivities,
and his Bosnian and grandmother couldn't quite make herself taste
the turkey or the pumpkin pie. Georgia had roast beef
in the slow cooker just in case, but his grandfather

(09:16):
ate some of everything and went back for seconds. It
was an interesting day with a mix of immigrants, Iowans
and descendants of Mayflower pilgrims sharing an American Thanksgiving. When
I got home, I jotted potato chips on the next
year's Thanksgiving list and added the Bringer's name right next

(09:37):
to it otis.

Speaker 1 (09:42):
And a special thanks to Monty for producing the Peace
and special thanks also to joy Neil Kidney, a beautiful
story about immigration, about America, and about love. Here on
our American Stories