For most of my life, Thanksgiving meant a house full of people: grandparents, cousins, friends — the smell of cornbread dressing, laughter echoing from the kitchen, and at least one relative asking if we really needed that many side dishes (we did).

It was noisy, messy, wonderful chaos. A celebration that sometimes started days before the turkey ever hit the oven.

But somewhere along the way, the crowd got smaller. First a few family members couldn’t make it. Some family dramas. Others moved. Life changed. Kids grew up, families branched out, and suddenly, “the whole gang” became just a few of us around the table.

For years, I tried to fight it — to hold onto the exact version of Thanksgiving I grew up with. I thought if I could just keep the traditions alive, it would keep everything else from changing, too. But it turns out, you can’t out-bake time.

🕯️ The Traditions I Swore I’d Keep

There are still a few things that feel like home, and I cling to them like butter to a biscuit.

I still make the same dressing my grandma loved — the kind that starts with a skillet of cornbread and ends with the whole kitchen smelling like comfort. The rolls still overbake a little, just like always. I still set the table with care — even if there are fewer plates now — because that’s what love looks like to me.

And because some recipes feel too sacred to keep to yourself, I’m sharing My Grandma’s cornbread dressing recipe below. It’s a little taste of my childhood — and maybe it’ll find its way onto your table, too.

🥧 The Ones I’ve Had to Let Go

For a long time, I thought tradition meant sameness. That every year should look like the one before — same dishes, same people, same chaos.

But life doesn’t work like that, does it?

Some years, not everyone can make it home. Sometimes it’s Thanksgiving, sometimes it’s Christmas, and sometimes it’s just a random Sunday when we manage to be in the same room. I’ve learned that doesn’t make the holiday any less meaningful — it just makes it more flexible.

I’ve also learned to let go of the guilt — or at least, I’m trying to. The guilt of missing what was, and the guilt of wanting to hold onto it so tightly that it makes my kids feel bad for growing up and having lives of their own. That part’s hard. I won’t pretend it’s not. There’s a little ache every year — but it’s softened now by acceptance.

Because here’s the truth: traditions can evolve without disappearing. The love behind them doesn’t vanish just because the date or the guest list changes.

🕊️ Finding the Heart of It Again

These days, Thanksgiving looks quieter. Cozier. Sometimes it’s me, my husband, a few of the kids, and Samuel hovering nearby in case something buttery hits the floor.

And I’ve realized… that’s still enough.

It’s not about recreating the past anymore. It’s about making peace with the present — and finding new joy inside it. The conversation is different now. The table’s smaller. But the thankfulness?? That’s part’s as big as ever.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1

🥄 My Grandma’s Cornbread Dressing

Every Southern family has a dish that feels like home — this one’s mine. My mom loves this cornbread dressing, and I swear I can still see her sneaking little “taste tests” before it ever hit the table.

It’s buttery, savory, a little crumbly, and unapologetic in its comfort. There’s nothing fancy about it — just real ingredients, real love, and the kind of flavor that tastes like family.

🧈 Ingredients:

For the cornbread:

• 1 cup cornmeal
• 1 cup flour
• 4 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon sugar (optional — we’re not here to start a Southern debate)
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 2 eggs
• ¼ cup melted butter or bacon drippings

For the dressing:

• 1 pan of cornbread, crumbled
• 4 slices of day-old sandwich bread, torn
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 2 stalks celery, finely chopped
• 3–4 cups homemade turkey broth** (enough to make it moist, not soupy)
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1 1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
• 1 1/2 teaspoon sage (or more if you love that deep, herby flavor)
• Salt and pepper to taste
• A few pats of butter for the top before baking

🍗 Directions:

1️⃣ Make your cornbread first.
Mix everything together, pour into a greased skillet, and bake at 400°F for about 20 minutes or until golden. Cool it completely — and if you make it a day ahead, even better.

2️⃣ Sauté your onion and celery in a little butter until soft and fragrant. (That smell? That’s the start of Thanksgiving.)

3️⃣ Crumble the cornbread into a large mixing bowl, add the torn bread, and stir in the cooked veggies.

4️⃣ Season it up. Add sage, poultry seasoning, salt, and pepper — this is where you channel your inner grandma.

5️⃣ Add the broth and eggs, stirring until the mixture looks moist but not soggy. If it looks dry, keep adding broth a little at a time — it should hold together like a damp biscuit mix.

6️⃣ Spread it into a greased baking dish, top with a few pats of butter, and bake at 350°F for 40–45 minutes or until golden and set in the middle.

**Note: We make the turkey broth using the turkey innards. Season it to taste with S&P.

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If your family argues over crispy edges vs. soft center, make two pans and call it diplomacy.

Serve it warm, straight from the oven, with gravy or just pride. And when you take that first bite, I hope you feel the same kind of love and comfort that’s been sitting at my family’s table for generations.

I used to think keeping traditions alive meant keeping everything the same.
Now I know it just means keeping love at the center — even if it looks different than before.

So yes, I’ll still make too much food. I’ll still play the old songs. I’ll still set the table like everyone’s coming home — because in a way, they always do. Maybe not in person, but always in heart.

Here’s to new seasons, old recipes, and the kind of traditions that grow right alongside us.

Love, laughter, and second helpings,

Natalie💛