Talkin' Turkey

Myth:  Thanksgiving Day in America.  A time-honored celebration of goodwill and plentiful food is historically rooted in the colony town of Plymouth, Massachusetts.  Though there exist several theories – ranging from earlier festivals transpiring in Virginia to the Spanish celebrating a giving of thanks during the 16^th century in Florida – the common conception of pilgrims breaking away from the Church of England, traveling to America in search of religious freedom and their subsequent celebration of a good harvest and peace with the natives still holds sway.  In the year 1620, the Puritan seafarers aboard the famed Mayflower set foot on what would later be American soil.  The following year, these white settlers glorified their higher power and the benevolence of the local Wampanoag tribe, who aided the pilgrims in the teaching of fishing and planting techniques, by holding a proper feast around the fall harvest.  Sporadic attempts to replicate this contested “original” Thanksgiving were common in early 17^th century colonial New England, but it wasn’t until the late 17^th century that the feast became a common occurrence.  To put it simply, Thanksgiving Day owes its prominence to the blending of two cultures – native and colonial – and their similar practices of celebrating a bountiful harvest (European) and the end of the harvest season (native American).  All theories aside, the idea of honoring one’s bounty regardless of ethnic origin or class resonates most loudly during modern day Thanksgiving festivities.

Fact:  The first Thanksgiving did indeed occur at Plymouth in 1621 and it was a splendid occasion, marked most notably by the peaceful agreement between the two cultures on what the fare would be at such a feast.  The local native Americans, or Wampanoag, and the pilgrims seamlessly generated a meal that would satisfy all and offend no one: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn (or maize), cranberries and Sara Lee’s enviable pumpkin pie (Sara Lee was a 50-year-old pilgrim bachelorette who compensated for her homely nature and grand girth by making such delicacies).  The feast was a success for both political and cultural progress between the two factions, though the native Americans did outstay their welcome just a tad as they were passive aggressively kicked out of pilgrim territory at around 10:00 that evening.  Social faux-pas aside, it was agreed that a second Thanksgiving would occur on the same date the following year, but this time the Wampanoag would host the event.  The pilgrims passed the time and lost their Thanksgiving weight of 1621 by partaking in the classic post-holiday exercise of “getting the shit scared out of them during Sunday services by the fire and brimstone pastor and then fleeing.”  The name of the exercise was later shortened to running.  A year passed and weight was lost, and so the second annual Thanksgiving was nigh.  The pilgrims loaded into their carts, or Dutch Sedans as they were called, and set off for the Wampanoag village on Thanksgiving Day.  The air was charged with the excitement for the feast to come.  All sat down on the rustic benches, as the Wampanoag began circulating the day’s fare.  A John Dartmouth Plain described his reaction following the daily prayer: “I lifted my head after giving thanks to my Lord only to find a side of stuffing, my favorite of last year’s morsels mind you, dotted with bits of apricot.  Let me repeat myself.  Apricots.  Are you fucking kidding me!  Oh Lord, forgive my language, but you, the most high, must know that such a transgression with Thanksgiving fare be a blasphemy.”  Mr. Plain was upset indeed, but that was just the beginning.  The governor of the Massachusetts colony was supposed to carve the turkey that macabre evening, but he would only find a plate of lasagna to square off and give to his enraged constituents.  The pilgrims flew into a fury.  The Wampanoag were in shock and could not understand why such animosity filled their village, for they “only wanted to try something different this year.”  Before leaving, the governor looked the Wampanoag chief directly in the eye and said, “A wrath will come upon your people for such insolence.”  Some historians believe that wrath did come, lasted a bit too long, and may have even crossed the line.