Turkey is not a Swiss Christmas tradition. It is not really a Dutch one either. Yet somehow a Christmas turkey has found its way into our plans this year. It reminds me that traditions are not always passed down. Sometimes they appear quietly in our lives because of where we have been and who we have met along the way.

My own link to Christmas turkey started years ago when I lived with a Scottish family during my studies. Their Christmas was warm and simple. Turkey on Christmas Day. Turkey sandwiches on Boxing Day. Gravy, stuffing, tatties and that cosy mix of mashed root vegetables. I had no idea those meals would stay with me long after I left.

Yesterday that memory came back while my mother and I were at Hanos. We were not doing Christmas shopping yet. It was far too early for that. We were just picking up a few things and browsing around for ideas. When we reached the poultry section, we stopped at the Christmas turkeys and took an order form home. The seller told us the prices would drop next week and suggested ordering then. A small tip, but it suddenly made Christmas feel close.

This year we will celebrate Christmas at my second sister’s new home in Lelystad. A bigger family around the table means choosing something that feeds everyone and keeps things relaxed. A turkey does exactly that. And without planning it, it also brings a piece of my Scottish chapter into our Dutch Christmas.

Our table this year will not look Swiss or Dutch or Scottish. It will simply look like us. A mix of the life we have lived and the stories we carry.