Growing up on Washington Avenue in Springfield, NJ, our Thanksgiving Day routine was cast in stone. It started early in the morning, with Mom sliding the turkey, wrapped in a brown paper bag, into the oven. I never understood how the brown paper bag thing actually worked without the turkey being incinerated let alone our home!
Following the turkey insertion, we were off to watch my brother and the Jonathan Dayton Regional High School Bulldogs play the Indians from Rahway in their final football game of the season. Rahway always afforded the Bulldogs the opportunity for a victory!
Following football, we scampered back to the house so Mom could put the final touches on our Thanksgiving festivities. Participants in said festivities included, but were not limited to, Grandma and Grandpa Schoch, Uncle Cy, Aunt Pearl, their son Billy, Uncle Herb, Aunt Gert and their daughters Janice and Diane. Dinner was served on top of our green colored ping pong table (which was made by our father in high school), in our efflorescence-stained block basement. Grandpa Schoch would always depart the festivities in joyous tears, declaring the following; “Lois, for a young girl (regardless of her actual age), you are a wonderful cook!”
During my adult life, Thanksgiving mornings were never quite the same, as there were no scheduled activities to bridge the gap between the morning and mid-late afternoon feasts.
Fast forward some fifty-three years, in Buchan Field on North May Street, located in the northwest corner of Southern Pines, in Moore County, North Carolina; I believe I have filled the void with a unique one-hundred and eleven-year, time-honored tradition.
The event, held every Thanksgiving morning, is known as “The Blessing of the Hounds”, which perpetuates a ritual dating back to the Middle Ages; marking the formal launch of the foxhunting season, which gathers hounds, horses, and riders.
A dear friend of mine (Jim “Hambone” Herman) and I made a test run in 2024. Having limited expectations, we were simultaneously amazed and delighted with the enormity and frivolity of the spectacle.
Starting at 7:00 am, thousands of spectators stream into the parking lot at Lyell’s Meadow. This scene is not dissimilar to a tailgate party at Beaver Stadium (Penn State) as trunks are open, chairs are unfolded, and tables are spread and covered with numerous delicacies. People gather, people laugh, they throw footballs, they play corn hole; all while sharing and enjoying various libations.
At some point prior to the 10:00 kickoff, spectators from Lyell’s Meadow gravitate to Buchan Field, an even larger piece of property. The back end of Buchan Field is roped off in a “U” shaped fashion, keeping spectators from entering the field of play. The left and right side of the “U” are lined with numerous “VIP Tailgating” locations. This is where the professional tailgaters dwell. These patrons take their business quite seriously!
Within short order, off in the distance, one-hundred and twenty-five to one-hundred and fifty riders, in formal red, blue and black riding gear, make their way towards the spectators. In tow are the stars of the show, some thirty couples of Moore County Penn-Marydel Hounds (roughly sixty-animals), led by their huntsman, Lincoln Sadler. The Moore County hounds are the oldest recognized pack of foxhounds in North Carolina. And make no mistake, calling this pack of animal’s “dogs” is an insult of enormous proportion. It was made quite clear to those gathered that these beautiful creatures are hounds, not dogs!
We found ourselves at a scented fox chase, which differs from a fox hunt. A fox chase follows the scent of a fox where a fox hunt follows the real McCoy.
Once the riders and hounds assemble, the robed Father Tom Harbold, who presides over the ceremony, glides across the field to an elevated stand where he offers a prayer from St. Hubert, the patron saint of hunting; asking for protection for riders, horses, and hounds from danger to life and limb.
Shortly after the benediction, the hounds, horses, and riders depart the viewing area in an amazingly orderly fashion, heading off for a thirty-five-to-forty-minute jaunt, traversing across the piney woods of a 4,000- acre tract of land.
When the hounds, horses, and riders return, this is the exact moment when the real fun begins as the hounds, horses and riders mingle with throngs of children on the field of play. The hounds, although somewhat social, prioritize the pillaging of the tranquil tailgating locations for leftovers. Quite a sight!
This year (2025), Hambone and I returned with our spouses; Carol and Erin. The Schoch’s are hoping our new adventure with the Hermann’s becomes an annual Thanksgiving morning tradition similar to a turkey in a brown paper bag!
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