This week brings about, not only one of the most traveled weeks of the year, but a holiday of which most of us look forward to every year – Thanksgiving. Of course, this year, 2020, has seen such changes in our daily living, working, and caring for others.
It’s been the year of seclusion, and masks – and social distancing, which seems to me to be this year’s new buzz word. I hadn’t been out to eat in I don’t know how long, at a restaurant that actually serves their patrons, until recently. Now, there is serious talk of possibly closing everything down again.
Is anyone listening?
But, there is one thing that no mask, no lockdown, or social distancing can take from us – each other.
Aside from all the brutal lockdowns, negative outcomes, or spreading virus, we have much to be thankful for. Our families, (even if we don’t agree with them), the turkey (although it may not think so), and then there’s the fact you’re still here to read this – and, if nothing else – our memories, which no one can ever take away.
I started wondering, just what did the Pilgrim’s think of their first Thanksgiving Day?
It all began in 1691 in Plymouth, Massachusetts, with Pilgrims sharing their appreciation for the land, and the indigenous people who taught them how to grow crops, how to work the land and survive the brutal winters. Their feast had a long list of foods including turkey, corn, and cranberries, which are still the mainstay of most of our Thanksgiving dinners today.
But, what about dessert? Hmmm… Fast forward several hundred years later, in 1850, American poet and editor, John Greenleaf Whittier, penned a poem entitled, The Pumpkin, which is dedicated to the longstanding Thanksgiving topper, pumpkin pie.
The Pumpkin
Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold,
Like that which o’er Nineveh’s prophet once grew,
While he waited to know that his warning was true,
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain.
On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden;
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold
Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold;
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North,
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth,
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines,
And the sun of September melts down on his vines.
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and from South comes the pilgrim and guest;
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored,
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before,
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie?
Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! The old days recalling,
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling!
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune,
Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon,
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team!
Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better
E’er smoked from an oven or circled a platter!
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine,
Brighter eyes never watched o’er its baking, than thine!
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express,
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less,
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below,
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow,
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie!
Deidre and I want to wish each and everyone of you a very Happy Thanksgiving. I hope your table is filled with good food and good people.
May your burdens be light, and your face masks be tight!
Here’s to the turkey – clink!
Sheree 
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