The trip began with a four-hour ferry ride from Juneau to Haines. The drive that followed can take 22 hours from Haines to Ninilchik, if you drive straight through, no stops, good roads, no squabbling kids. A portion of the journey is outside the United States, passes through country where sub-zero temperatures are the rule and where fuel, restaurants and lodging are widely spaced.

I don't recall any of the wintry drive north, the familiarity of being back in our Ninilchik house, the comfort that comes with being surrounded by relatives and lifetime friends, the excitement of Christmas day. What I do recall all these years later occurred on our return trip.

Arriving in Haines Junction where drivers either turn south and cross mountain passes to re-enter the United States and the community of Haines, or turn east and continue on the Alaska Highway we were told winter storms had closed the road ahead. How long it would take to get the road reopened, no one knew. It would be days, at least; longer if another storm came in.

To be stranded because of winter weather wasn't unusual. Mom knew it was a possibility, as did those warning us against making the trip. But possibility and actuality are two different things. There we were, a woman and three kids, in need of someplace warm to get out of the freezing cold and in need of food to sustain us while we waited.

At that time of year, Haines Junction didn't have much to offer. Still, Mom managed to find a place big enough for the four of us, complete with a little stove in the center of the room. We were the only family in our band of stranded travelers. The rest were adults, many of them seeing the forced time-out as the perfect excuse to party. New Year's Eve in Haines Junction that year was a wild time, judging by the music and loud voices around us.

For us, the unexpected time in Haines Junction was less than cause to celebrate. As the days grew in number, Mom's worries about available finances grew. Overnighting in a motel, much less several nights, wasn't in the travel budget.

There was no way to reach Dad. Certainly no cell phones that travelers today rely on. No Internet connection to alert family of our situation. I don't even remember a phone being available.

With just enough cash reserves to buy gas when the road opened, Mom was forced to spend everything else for lodging. What food we had with us was running out as quickly as the snow was piling up. As she did on many occasions, probably because I was the eldest, Mom took me into her confidence, sharing her worries.

What the residents of Haines Junction and our fellow travelers thought of the four of us and our predicament, I have no idea. My only clue that someone was paying attention is that one person in the group offered us money.

For Mom, an incredibly proud and independent woman, the offer was humiliating. The messages that set off in her brain were tough to bear. She chastised herself for putting us in harm's way, for not listening to the advice of others.

How long the road would remain closed and how long she could keep her kids warm and fed were bigger concerns, however, so she took the offered gift.

The amount wasn't big. Small enough for Mom's pride to accept it, big enough for us to carefully select from the almost-bare shelves of a little store items we could heat on the stove in our room and eat for several days. What we had to choose from, I can't remember; what we ended up with were Vienna sausages and canned peas.

I can still smell those sausages and peas cooking on the stove. It's a memory that makes my mouth water and my heart fill with thanksgiving for the person that made it possible and for Mom for setting aside her pride.

During the Thanksgiving holiday, when we measure our blessings by the amount of food on our tables, my mind frequently goes back to that simple meal and the relief filling that chilly motel room so many miles away from home.

The hunger of children. The desperation of a parent. The generosity of a stranger. The blessing of food.

Filling Thanksgiving baskets created by Kachemak Bay Lions is one way to share that blessing. Starting at 9 a.m. Saturday, they'll be accepting donations of food and putting the baskets together in time for recipients to pick them up in the afternoon. Donations can be as big as a turkey or as small as package of this or a box of that.

Or it could be a can of Vienna sausages and a can of peas.

McKibben Jackinsky can be reached at mckibben.jackinsky.@homernews.com.