The Bethlen Home Messenger, 1991 (1-3. szám)
1991-09-01 / 3. szám
SttíWtp 3&í0ljJí0f)t$ This Is November by: Harriet C. Whipple The First Thanksgiving by: George F. Willison Indian summer soon came in a blaze of glory, and it was time to bring in the crops. All in all, their first harvest was a disappointment. Their twenty acres of com, thanks to Squanto, had done well enough. But the Pilgrims failed miserably with the more familiar crops. Still, it was possible to make a substantial increase in the individual weekly food ration which for months had consisted merely of a peck of meal from the stores brought on the Mayflower. This was doubled by adding a peck of maize a week, and the company decreed a holiday so that all might, "after a more special manner, rejoice together." The Pilgrims had other things to be thankful for. They had made peace with the Indians and walked "as peaceably and safely in the woods as in the highways of England." A start had been made in the beaver trade. There had been no sickness for months. Eleven houses now lined the street, seven private dwellings and four buildings for common use. There had been no recurrence of mutiny and dissension. Faced with common dangers, Saints and Strangers had drawn closer together, sinking doctrinal differences for a time... As the day of the harvest approached, four men were sent out to shoot waterfowl, returning with enough to supply the company for a week. Massasoit was invited to attend and shortly arrived with ninety ravenous braves! The strain on the larder was somewhat eased when some of these went out and bagged five deer. Captain Standish staged a military review, there were games of skill and chance, and for three days the Pilgrims and their guests gorged themselves on venison, roast duck, roast goose, clams and other shellfish, succulent eels, white bread, com bread, leeks and watercress, and other "sallet herbs," with wild plums and dried berries as dessert all washed down with wine, made of the wild grape both white and red, which the Pilgrims praised as "very sweet and strong." At this first Thanksgiving feast in New England the company may have enjoyed, though there is no mention of it in the record, some of the long legged "turkies" whose speed of foot in the woods constantly amazed the Pilgrims. And there were cranberries in neighboring bogs... The celebration was a great success, warmly satisfying to body and soul alike, and the Pilgrims held another the next year, repeating it more or less regularly for generations. Frost on the rooftops, Dew on the grass, Leaves drifting down Wherever we pass: Wet windy weather, Skies often gray, Leaves piling up Though raked every day. Ice on the puddles, Trees almost bare; Mornings are chilly, Breath on the air. Squirrels are still busy, Where nuts can be found. Hiding their treasures in hollows around. Darkness comes early, It's cozy indoors With apples and popcorn And books to explore. The harvest is in And all stored away; Watch for the snowflakes To come any day. HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE! !
