'Tis Thanksgiving week. Do you know the real story?

Off and on all day we've been enjoying snow flurries (showers?). We're now in (an early) Thanksgiving week so a little snow seems seasonal. We think we remember that, way back in the days when we were much younger, family Christmas decorations stayed put away until after Thanksgiving. We mention this today because, at the moment, there's a pair of pumpkins (Thanksgiving decorations) sitting where a batch or two of Christmas greens usually appear, some years covered by light netting, which we find particularly attractive. We think we'll wait until after Thanksgiving to do that part of the decorations. Between now and then we can pick away at hanging some wreaths or swags in a subdued fashion so that Christmas doesn't prematurely overwhelm Thanksgiving.

decorations done the day after Thanksgiving a year or two ago

Photo by J. Harrington

We're sure we've mentioned this before, but it's timely again this week. If you can get your hands on a copy of 1621: a new look at Thanksgiving, try to read it this week. Much of what we've been taught, or learned randomly over the years, about Thanksgiving is inaccurate. We were born in Boston and much of our teen and early adult years were spent living in the historic territory of the Wampanoag people. We know that the Pilgrims and the Puritans aren't the same folks. Our copy of the "1621" book came from Birchbark Books in Minneapolis several years ago. Both a hard cover and a paperback edition are listed on their web site.

"New England" architecture with Christmas decorations in Taylors Falls

Photo by J. Harrington

Something we're grateful for, especially at this time of year, is that we live somewhere that has a lot of older homes in the New England architectural style. Being able to enjoy buildings decorated for Christmas that look much like those in several of the neighborhoods where we grew up makes us feel very much at "home for the holidays."

Thanksgiving

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 1850- 1919

We walk on starry fields of white
   And do not see the daisies;
For blessings common in our sight
   We rarely offer praises.
We sigh for some supreme delight
   To crown our lives with splendor,
And quite ignore our daily store
   Of pleasures sweet and tender. 

Our cares are bold and push their way
   Upon our thought and feeling.
They hand about us all the day,
   Our time from pleasure stealing.
So unobtrusive many a joy
   We pass by and forget it,
But worry strives to own our lives,
   And conquers if we let it. 

There’s not a day in all the year
   But holds some hidden pleasure,
And looking back, joys oft appear
   To brim the past’s wide measure.
But blessings are like friends, I hold,
   Who love and labor near us.
We ought to raise our notes of praise
   While living hearts can hear us. 

Full many a blessing wears the guise
   Of worry or of trouble;
Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,
   Who knows the mask is double.
But he who has the faith and strength
   To thank his God for sorrow
Has found a joy without alloy
   To gladden every morrow. 

We ought to make the moments notes
   Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
The hours and days a silent phrase
   Of music we are living.
And so the theme should swell and grow
   As weeks and months pass o’er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,
   A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

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