I’m away from family, dear friends: scents, sounds, even the colors of Gagauz leaves spark snippets of memory. Holidays do the same. I recently recalled that Thanksgiving, that time I experimented for the “perfect” turkey… we bag them in all-American plastic, for succulence! But my bird wept and wilted, and when placed on the table, the meat slid from the bones to the serving platter. There was no room for the traditional carving that night… oh no, wicked marketing scheme, you did us no good. But here, in Comrat, a different story unfolded: a turkey massacre, a gathering of helpers, an opportunity for exchange, and to learn.