The day before Thanksgiving at an airport is a time for tenderness and tension. A grandmother frets over the fate of the pecan tarts packed away in her suitcase. A mother hopes that hauling two strollers 600 miles to Chicago absolves her from cooking anything at all. And though most people are only going away for a weekend, the concourses are crowded with pieces of luggage the size of Macy's floats.

The stress can snap the hardiest traveler like a wishbone.

Usually the most interesting place at Baltimore-Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport is the observation deck, where 737s can be seen launching into the sky.

But yesterday, the real action was at the ticket counters, departure gates and baggage claims where the masses were gathered. Already everyone seemed hungry for something or other: the racks of Oklahoma-style smoked ribs that Dad likes to serve with the turkey, or Mom's mashed potatoes mounded as high as the clouds above the runway.

Hungry for other things, too -- to get away, to come back.

Hungry for home.

'I can't wait'

Army Pvt. Johnathan Truss hasn't seen his mother in two years, but he misses her so much he has spoken with her almost nightly from the barracks at Aberdeen Proving Ground, where he has been in training for the past three months.

As of yesterday, about the only thing he hadn't shared with Ida Truss of Lincoln, Ala., was his plan to be home for Thanksgiving.

"They don't expect me until Dec. 1," said Truss, 24, of his parents and seven siblings as he waited for a 1:20 p.m. flight to Birmingham yesterday. "I can't wait to see their faces."

The holiday means kith-and-kin time for Truss, the youngest of eight children (the oldest is 42), and that includes encounters with four sisters, three brothers, buds from surrounding Talladega County, and a few weighty slabs of Ida's specialty: homemade pecan pie with dollops of French vanilla ice cream.

"I've got a sweet tooth," he said. "If it's not ready when I walk in the door, I'll put in a request."

It'll be tasty "R&R;" for the E-1, who completed training in his occupational specialty -- generator repair -- this week, just in time for a coming deployment to Afghanistan. Each day, he has risen at 4:30 for physical training, then tackled eight hours of classes. "Nod off," he said, "and [the instructor] gives you push-ups on the spot."

Not this weekend. Once his family get over their shock, he expects to sleep in this morning, then soak up the latest gossip ("it's a small town"), trash-talk his brother Terrell, 32, over the coming Auburn-Alabama game (Johnathan hates the Crimson Tide) and finally, if that exchange doesn't go too badly, take one of Terrell's Tennessee walkers on a long ride through the woods -- in sweat pants, not his combat uniform.

"Country living," he sighed.

One other thing he hasn't told Ida: the news about Afghanistan. Her baby just found out he'll be there, with the 10th Mountain Division, for 15 of the next 24 months.

The idea doesn't scare him -- "I hear things have calmed down," he said, though he concedes that he knows little about the place -- but he'll miss knowing Ida, the other Trusses and a whole lot of home cooking are no longer just a plane ride away.

"Family and loved ones," he said when asked what he's most thankful for this year. "For the next few days, I'll be stocking up."

Jonathan Pitts

Some new traditions

Because roasting a turkey the old-fashioned way took all day, there used to be a lot of time on Thanksgiving for other things: the grandchildren's annual race around the garden, for instance, and for playing near the old bridge that was destroyed in a storm many years back.

"We cooked that turkey a long, long time," recalled 77-year-old Marian Lewis of Olney as she waited near a Southwest Airlines curbside baggage check. "And slow." She always used an oatmeal stuffing recipe inherited from her Scottish-born mother.

"You could really smell it," said her husband, 84-year-old Russell Lewis, puffing appreciatively on a cigarette. And it was perfect with sweet potato casserole.

There will be no oatmeal stuffing this year for Marian and Russell, who were bound for San Diego and the homes of two grandchildren, now grown. They will be eating a turkey obtained from a HoneyBaked Ham store.

"My granddaughter says it's Cajun-style," Marian said. Her voice dropped: "I think it's already cooked."

But turkey isn't really the point of the pilgrimage. They haven't yet met their fifth great-grandchild, now a year old. Marian recently knitted a Christmas stocking for the girl. "She has a beautiful smile," she said -- although her great-grandparents have seen it only in pictures.

The Lewises don't get nostalgic for the old days of oatmeal stuffing, delicious though it might have been.

"We're happy for new traditions," Marian said. "Everything is a little different."

Abigail Tucker

Jamaica Thursday

Juliet Lee's Baltimore home is one of those houses where everyone goes for Thanksgiving. Even when she tells her three grown children, nieces and nephews, sisters and friends that she isn't planning anything special for the holiday, the pack of 20 loved ones assembles at her house anyway.

Because she's the mom. She's the cook.

But this year, she's out of there.

"I packed my bags. I'm getting away from it all. I'm tired," said Lee, first thing Wednesday morning in the outer limits of BWI -- Terminal E. She was traveling with her boyfriend, O'Neil Armstrong, who was parking the car. This would be Lee's first abdication of her traditional Thanksgiving duties, and she was not even slightly racked with guilt or indecision.

In this quiet airport wing, two morning international destinations were available: Toronto (way north) and Montego Bay (way south), where the temperature was 80 and climbing. A no-brainer.

In three hours, Lee planned to be in Jamaica for the week and, later in the day, riding a horse on a Caribbean beach. If you're into stuff like that.

Lee, a 45-year-old check cashier, was not only ducking out of town -- she was leaving the U.S. holiday altogether in the dust.

"It's just another Thursday in Jamaica," she said.

As she rolled her ample luggage toward Gate E-1, Lee gleefully fielded departing questions. Of course, she had told her family where she was heading or, more precisely, "I told some people."

Did she think about inviting her grown kids? "I'm running away from the kids!" Surely, Lee left instructions with everyone on what they could whip up for Thanksgiving dinner without her?

No, they will have to figure out what to eat on their own, she said. None of mom's turkey or curried chicken this year.

A postcard?

Another smile.

The woman was having way too much fun -- and she hadn't even left the terminal yet. Her flight, No. JM040, was at the top of the departures board. 8:35 a.m. Air Jamaica. Montego Bay. E-1. ON TIME.

Good-bye, Thanksgiving in Baltimore; hello, just-another-Thursday in the Caribbean.

Rob Hiaasen

First time away

The place of honor in Cara Canington's backpack -- on top of her Gossip Girl novel, chemistry homework and spare PB&J; sandwich -- was occupied by a hunk of her mom's pumpkin cake, wrapped in plastic and then again in a brown paper bag.

By the look of things, though, the dessert wouldn't make it through the flight to California, let alone to Thanksgiving dinner. Several of her Harford Hockey Organization teammates -- all of them en route to a field hockey tournament in Palm Springs -- had already claimed a bite while waiting at an airport cafe with their parents before takeoff.

"At least my brother won't get it," 16-year-old Cara said.

And besides, even if only cream-cheese frosted crumbs remain, Cara will still be thinking of her mom, Tammy, who would head back home to Bel Air after the girls cleared security.

This is Cara's first Thanksgiving away from her family. The Caningtons ate their turkey -- and much of the pumpkin cake -- on Tuesday night, so Cara wouldn't be completely deprived.

And Tammy knows that attending the holiday tournament is the right thing for her daughter, because she's a junior now and there likely will be college scouts watching. Sacrifice is part of being an athlete. And at least she'll be among friends.

But Tammy still hates to think of Cara at a hotel buffet on Thanksgiving Day, especially after playing two hard games of field hockey.

"They always seem to run out of things," Tammy sighed. Especially dessert.

Abigail Tucker

Holiday pay

As Robert Joyce hauled baggage in the dark, noisy bowels of the Southwest Airlines terminal, he envisioned his family and relatives, who were at that moment gathering at home to prepare a hearty Thanksgiving meal.

He wasn't longing to join them -- not yesterday, and not today either.

"I don't want to be around the house when the food is being cooked," said Joyce, 53, a Southwest ramp agent from Baltimore. "I like to come in when the food is already done."

And he's not alone. While folks across the country are enjoying the short week and holiday time off, Southwest's ramp agents, who handle cargo and customer baggage, volunteered to work on Thanksgiving Day.

Many would rather be at work with a close-knit crew than coping with tensions that often accompany family get-togethers.

Last month, when Southwest posted its annual holiday work sign-up sheet, almost 200 of its 250-member ramp crew signed up -- including some who regularly take Thursdays off.

And it's not just to avoid holiday tensions. The pay is pretty good: On top of the regular salary, each receives holiday and overtime pay.

"If you work two shifts, you can make a week's worth of pay in one day," said ramp agent Mark Goergens, 31. "That's why people are here."

Joyce, who is twice separated, said he enjoys spending time with his mother and three daughters but knows they don't mind his not being at home if he isn't helping out with the meal.

He said he planned to work only one shift today, in part because he doesn't expect to see as many relatives as he did those Thanksgivings when he was married.

Back then, he says, the prospect of facing all those relatives prompted him to volunteer for two shifts.

Joe Burris

Role reversal

Joanne Pinheiro was the only one of her siblings to move away from Boston. Coming home on Thanksgiving was always her contribution to tradition. She'd show up to find her mother and sister in a flurry of pie-baking, and just in time for an elaborate dinner at her brother's. She flew in every year, even after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2003.

But this June, the cancer, which had been in remission, came back. Pinheiro has been sick from chemotherapy treatments and other medication; her joints ached so much that she could hardly walk.

She wanted to go home , and yet she knew what the treatment a few days before the holiday would do to her body.

So she told her family: "I can't."

"That's when they said they were bringing Thanksgiving to me," the 52-year-old Fairfax, Va., resident said, with an undiminished grin.

Yesterday, Pinheiro waited at BWI to pick up her sister and mother, who had packed an ingredient for stuffing that she swears is available only in the Boston area. It's a reversal of roles, and why not? If nothing else, cancer has taught Pinheiro to be thankful for welcome surprises.

If she had the strength later on, the hostess was even considering attempting a pie or two.

Abigail Tucker

Four generations

Jamie Escular the First eyed his son, Jamie Escular the Second, and his grandson, Jamie Escular the Third, and their wives assembled around a BWI baggage carousel and declared it would be a tight fit in his Saturn.

But that would be just fine, he said with a grin. This was to be the family's first Thanksgiving together in years, and the cramped ride to his house in York, Pa., would get them in the mood.

Like many other American holidays, Thanksgiving is about things stuffed -- airplanes and roads, turkeys, tables and stomachs. So, the eldest Escular figured, why not his car and house, too?

Around his table will be 14 relatives and four generations from places as far-flung as Chicago, Fort Lauderdale, Fla., and Texas.

Of course, a traditional stuffed turkey will be served up during this holiday weekend, but so too will more exotic fare.

Escular I will be teaching everyone how to make a traditional dish from his native Dominican Republic called pasteles, which is chicken, vegetables and spices rolled tamale-style in banana tree leaves or parchment paper.

"It takes two days to make," he said, explaining why everyone needs to stay until Saturday.

But why this year for the gathering? As Escular II remarked, "It does take something special to leave Fort Lauderdale this time of year."

Was it because the family patriarch is 90 years old? Or has it just been too long since the last holiday gathering?

Well, no, the Second admitted. It was the pasteles. He wanted his wife, Ede, to learn how to make the dish, already.

Meredith Cohn