Hopefully by now you have a real idea of what Thanksgiving is about. It is to bad in our public schools they would rather teach 10 pages about Stalin and one paragraph about Thanksgiving.
Squanto--God's Special Indiana Thanksgiving Story by Dr. Ralph F. Wilson
Sailors poured onto the rocky beach as their small craft landed. Nearby cliffs echoed with a shout: "Grab that short one before he gets away!" The Indian boy felt a sailor's callused hands grasp his shoulders. Though he thrashed and jerked, Squanto (SKWAN- to) couldn't break free. As fibers from a coarse rope cut into his wrists he finally decided that struggle was useless. He was dragged into a longboat, then carried aboard a three-masted English ship anchored offshore.
Squanto had been fishing along the rugged coast when his friend had looked up and pointed, "Great boats with white wings." They had scrambled over the boulders to meet the strange white-faced intruders. Now Squanto was their captive.
Weeks later, a pale Squanto wobbled down the gangplank from that lurching deck onto firm land. He and other Indians were taken to the elaborate mansion of Sir Ferdinando Gorges who had financed many expeditions to the New World. For the next three years, the Indian youths were taught English. At first Squanto found the new tongue awkward, but eventually he surprised himself: "My name is Squanto. I have come from America."
His English host was eager for the Indians to master the language. One day Gorges called them to his quarters. "Young braves, you have studied hard. Now you will be sent as guides on new explorations of America. I will miss you."
"Another ship? How can I stand that constantly rolling deck?" Squanto thought. But in time he gained his sea legs. His knowledge of the rivers and natural harbors, of the tribes and chieftains of his homeland proved very helpful to the English explorers.
For years he had longed to see his beloved bay and village again. One day, as his ship sailed along the New England coast, he spotted it. Squanto ran to the captain. "May I go ashore, sir? That's my village. That's my home!"
"Yes, young man. You have served us well. Now you can return to your people."
As soon as he heard the pebbles crunch under the longboat's hull, Squanto jumped out and ran to embrace his parents. He was home!
But his homecoming didn't last long. Within weeks Squanto spotted new sails on the horizon. No longer afraid of English ships, he proudly led a band of young braves to greet the sailors. Armed seamen seized Squanto and nineteen other Patuxet (paw-TUX-et) Indians.
Once again he was imprisoned aboard a British merchant ship. Rats scampered across the damp hold where the Indians were chained. Scarce provisions, a stormy trip, and continual seasickness took their toll. Several Indians were buried at sea. By the time they reached the Spanish slave-port of Malaga (MA-la-ga), Squanto was very weak.
One by one the surviving braves were pushed up onto the auction block to be sold. Finally it was Squanto's turn. He could barely stand. "Senores (sen-YOR-es), what will you bid for this strong Indian?" the slave trader rasped. A brown-robed monk nodded and the auctioneer grinned. "Sold to the brothers of the monastery."
A heavy pouch of coins exchanged hands and the monk led Squanto home. At last his wrists were untied. A friar brought fresh water and plenty of food, though Squanto could only eat a little.
"Estas libre (es-TAS LEE-bray)! You are free." Squanto looked into the clear eyes of this man of God. Though he knew no Spanish, he understood. Over the next few weeks he pieced it together. Their love for Jesus had prompted these Christian brothers to buy Indian slaves and teach them the Christian faith. As the monks nursed him back to health, Squanto began to love this Jesus, too.
Yet he longed for home. The Indian used his command of English to find a fishing boat headed for London, where he rejoined his explorer friends. Again, Squanto became a guide for explorations of the New World. Years passed. The day finally came when he saw the familiar coastlands of home. Once more he was granted permission to go ashore.
No one greeted Squanto at the beach. He ran to his village. The bark-covered round-houses were empty. Not even a dog barked. Graves outside the village told the story. Samoset (SAM-o-set), his friend from a neighboring tribe, could bring little comfort. "A whiteman's sickness struck your people. One week, all dead. Many villages lie silent like Patuxet."
Squanto's emptiness overwhelmed him. Parents, brothers, sisters, forever gone. He wandered the forests for weeks in his grief. Finally he went to live with his friend Samoset.
One cold December morning, six months after he returned, Squanto watched the white sails of a ship grow on the stormy horizon. This time he hid as the men came ashore. Their clothes looked different from those worn by sailors and the fancy English officers he had seen on other ships. Broad hats and great black capes shielded them from the biting wind. He could glimpse white caps and long dresses of women aboard the ship anchored in the bay. Often he saw children playing on deck. As green leaves came to clothe barren trees, the settlers began to build houses on the very place where his village had stood. Day after day Squanto watched intently, never seen.
Samoset urged him to meet these settlers. A cry went up as the Indians strode into the settlement. Men grabbed for their muskets.
The Indians lifted their hands in greeting. "My name is Squanto. This is Samoset. We come in peace." The settlers were astounded. An Indian who spoke clear English? The Pilgrims lowered their muskets and invited the Indians to share their meager food.
The sun had set by the time Samoset got up to leave, but Squanto hesitated. Many of the settlers had already died from disease and winter's bitter cold. There was little food. Yet they weren't giving up. He thought of his old village's battle with death. "You go," Squanto told his friend in their Indian tongue, "I'm staying. This is my home, my village. These will be my new people."
Squanto turned to the leaders. "May I stay with you? I can help you. I know where you can find foods in the forest."
The white men studied the Indian carefully. Could he be trusted? Still, the struggling colony was in no position to refuse help. "Yes. Please stay."
That spring and summer Squanto proved his worth many times over. He led them to brooks alive with herring beginning their spring migration upstream. He showed the settlers how to fish with traps. He taught them where to stalk game in the forest. The children learned what berries they could pick for their families. Twenty acres of corn grew tall after Squanto showed the Pilgrims how to plant fish with the native corn seeds from a local tribe.
Once, a hostile tribe captured Squanto. "If he is killed," shouted their chief, "the English have lost their tongue." A small Pilgrim force arrived just in time, firing their muskets in the air. The terrified chief released his captive and fled. Squanto repaid the Pilgrims' favor. His bargaining skills kept neighboring tribes from attacking the small Plymouth colony.
In the fall the Pilgrims planned a feast to celebrate God's merciful help. Squanto was sent to invite friendly Chief Massasoit (MASS-a-soit) and his braves.
They gathered around tables spread with venison, roast duck and goose, turkeys, shellfish, bread, and vegetables, with woodland fruits and berries for dessert. Before they ate, the Pilgrim men removed their wide-brimmed hats and Indians stood reverently as the governor led them in solemn prayer.
"Thank You, great God, for the bounty You have supplied to us. Thank You for protecting us in hardship and meeting all our needs. . . ." Towards the end of the long prayer, Squanto was startled to hear his own name. "And thank You for bringing to us the Indian Squanto, your own special instrument to save us from hunger and help us to establish our colony in this new land." Squanto stood proudly. It was a day to remember.
Two years passed. Squanto lay mortally ill, struck by a raging fever while scouting east of Plymouth. He turned over in his mind the events of his strange life. It almost seemed that a plan had led him. The first time he was captured he learned English. The second time, he was freed by gentle Christians who taught him to trust in Jesus. And though his own people had died of sickness, God had sent him to a new people who built their colony where his old village once stood.
Pilgrim leader William Bradford knelt at his bedside. "Pray for me, Governor," the Indian whispered, "that I might go to the Englishmen's God in heaven." Squanto breathed his last November 1622, gone from the New World, but entering a heavenly one.
Squanto had been fishing along the rugged coast when his friend had looked up and pointed, "Great boats with white wings." They had scrambled over the boulders to meet the strange white-faced intruders. Now Squanto was their captive.
Weeks later, a pale Squanto wobbled down the gangplank from that lurching deck onto firm land. He and other Indians were taken to the elaborate mansion of Sir Ferdinando Gorges who had financed many expeditions to the New World. For the next three years, the Indian youths were taught English. At first Squanto found the new tongue awkward, but eventually he surprised himself: "My name is Squanto. I have come from America."
His English host was eager for the Indians to master the language. One day Gorges called them to his quarters. "Young braves, you have studied hard. Now you will be sent as guides on new explorations of America. I will miss you."
"Another ship? How can I stand that constantly rolling deck?" Squanto thought. But in time he gained his sea legs. His knowledge of the rivers and natural harbors, of the tribes and chieftains of his homeland proved very helpful to the English explorers.
For years he had longed to see his beloved bay and village again. One day, as his ship sailed along the New England coast, he spotted it. Squanto ran to the captain. "May I go ashore, sir? That's my village. That's my home!"
"Yes, young man. You have served us well. Now you can return to your people."
As soon as he heard the pebbles crunch under the longboat's hull, Squanto jumped out and ran to embrace his parents. He was home!
But his homecoming didn't last long. Within weeks Squanto spotted new sails on the horizon. No longer afraid of English ships, he proudly led a band of young braves to greet the sailors. Armed seamen seized Squanto and nineteen other Patuxet (paw-TUX-et) Indians.
Once again he was imprisoned aboard a British merchant ship. Rats scampered across the damp hold where the Indians were chained. Scarce provisions, a stormy trip, and continual seasickness took their toll. Several Indians were buried at sea. By the time they reached the Spanish slave-port of Malaga (MA-la-ga), Squanto was very weak.
One by one the surviving braves were pushed up onto the auction block to be sold. Finally it was Squanto's turn. He could barely stand. "Senores (sen-YOR-es), what will you bid for this strong Indian?" the slave trader rasped. A brown-robed monk nodded and the auctioneer grinned. "Sold to the brothers of the monastery."
A heavy pouch of coins exchanged hands and the monk led Squanto home. At last his wrists were untied. A friar brought fresh water and plenty of food, though Squanto could only eat a little.
"Estas libre (es-TAS LEE-bray)! You are free." Squanto looked into the clear eyes of this man of God. Though he knew no Spanish, he understood. Over the next few weeks he pieced it together. Their love for Jesus had prompted these Christian brothers to buy Indian slaves and teach them the Christian faith. As the monks nursed him back to health, Squanto began to love this Jesus, too.
Yet he longed for home. The Indian used his command of English to find a fishing boat headed for London, where he rejoined his explorer friends. Again, Squanto became a guide for explorations of the New World. Years passed. The day finally came when he saw the familiar coastlands of home. Once more he was granted permission to go ashore.
No one greeted Squanto at the beach. He ran to his village. The bark-covered round-houses were empty. Not even a dog barked. Graves outside the village told the story. Samoset (SAM-o-set), his friend from a neighboring tribe, could bring little comfort. "A whiteman's sickness struck your people. One week, all dead. Many villages lie silent like Patuxet."
Squanto's emptiness overwhelmed him. Parents, brothers, sisters, forever gone. He wandered the forests for weeks in his grief. Finally he went to live with his friend Samoset.
One cold December morning, six months after he returned, Squanto watched the white sails of a ship grow on the stormy horizon. This time he hid as the men came ashore. Their clothes looked different from those worn by sailors and the fancy English officers he had seen on other ships. Broad hats and great black capes shielded them from the biting wind. He could glimpse white caps and long dresses of women aboard the ship anchored in the bay. Often he saw children playing on deck. As green leaves came to clothe barren trees, the settlers began to build houses on the very place where his village had stood. Day after day Squanto watched intently, never seen.
Samoset urged him to meet these settlers. A cry went up as the Indians strode into the settlement. Men grabbed for their muskets.
The Indians lifted their hands in greeting. "My name is Squanto. This is Samoset. We come in peace." The settlers were astounded. An Indian who spoke clear English? The Pilgrims lowered their muskets and invited the Indians to share their meager food.
The sun had set by the time Samoset got up to leave, but Squanto hesitated. Many of the settlers had already died from disease and winter's bitter cold. There was little food. Yet they weren't giving up. He thought of his old village's battle with death. "You go," Squanto told his friend in their Indian tongue, "I'm staying. This is my home, my village. These will be my new people."
Squanto turned to the leaders. "May I stay with you? I can help you. I know where you can find foods in the forest."
The white men studied the Indian carefully. Could he be trusted? Still, the struggling colony was in no position to refuse help. "Yes. Please stay."
That spring and summer Squanto proved his worth many times over. He led them to brooks alive with herring beginning their spring migration upstream. He showed the settlers how to fish with traps. He taught them where to stalk game in the forest. The children learned what berries they could pick for their families. Twenty acres of corn grew tall after Squanto showed the Pilgrims how to plant fish with the native corn seeds from a local tribe.
Once, a hostile tribe captured Squanto. "If he is killed," shouted their chief, "the English have lost their tongue." A small Pilgrim force arrived just in time, firing their muskets in the air. The terrified chief released his captive and fled. Squanto repaid the Pilgrims' favor. His bargaining skills kept neighboring tribes from attacking the small Plymouth colony.
In the fall the Pilgrims planned a feast to celebrate God's merciful help. Squanto was sent to invite friendly Chief Massasoit (MASS-a-soit) and his braves.
They gathered around tables spread with venison, roast duck and goose, turkeys, shellfish, bread, and vegetables, with woodland fruits and berries for dessert. Before they ate, the Pilgrim men removed their wide-brimmed hats and Indians stood reverently as the governor led them in solemn prayer.
"Thank You, great God, for the bounty You have supplied to us. Thank You for protecting us in hardship and meeting all our needs. . . ." Towards the end of the long prayer, Squanto was startled to hear his own name. "And thank You for bringing to us the Indian Squanto, your own special instrument to save us from hunger and help us to establish our colony in this new land." Squanto stood proudly. It was a day to remember.
Two years passed. Squanto lay mortally ill, struck by a raging fever while scouting east of Plymouth. He turned over in his mind the events of his strange life. It almost seemed that a plan had led him. The first time he was captured he learned English. The second time, he was freed by gentle Christians who taught him to trust in Jesus. And though his own people had died of sickness, God had sent him to a new people who built their colony where his old village once stood.
Pilgrim leader William Bradford knelt at his bedside. "Pray for me, Governor," the Indian whispered, "that I might go to the Englishmen's God in heaven." Squanto breathed his last November 1622, gone from the New World, but entering a heavenly one.
SQUANTO'S THANKSGIVING www.joyfulheart.com/holiday/squanto_play.htm A One Act Children's Play Play Time: About 15 minutes
A THANKSGIVING DAY PRAYER
"Faith of our fathers," renew us againAnd make us a nation of God-fearing menSeeking Thy guidance, Thy love, and Thy will,For we are but pilgrims in search of Thee still...And, gathered together on Thanksgiving Day,May we lift up our hearts and our hands as we prayTo thank You for blessings we so little merit,And grant us Thy love and teach us to share it.
By Helen Steiner Rice
Farmers work to preserve ancient turkey breeds November 24, 2008 - 5:11am
By STEVE SZKOTAK Associated Press Writer
UPPERVILLE, Va. (AP) - At Ayrshire Farm, hundreds of Midget White and Bourbon Red turkeys move in a feathered, gobbling mass on a wind-swept pasture overlooking Virginia's horse country.
These birds have longer legs and narrower breasts than the beachball-shaped turkey that will end up on many Thanksgiving Day tables. What they lack in heft, however, these heritage birds make up for in flavor, proponents say.
They also make it up in price: a 20-pound certified organic turkey from Ayrshire Farm costs $180.
Heritage turkeys are at the forefront of a movement to preserve threatened breeds _ some dating to the nation's founding by Europeans and earlier _ to ensure the continuation of ancient genetic strains and, yes, to get them listed on a chic restaurant menu or in a display case of a boutique butcher shop.
"One of the things we say is you have to eat them to save them," said Marjorie Bender of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy. "If we can give them their jobs back, then they're not museum artifacts."
The conservancy, based in Pittsboro, N.C., has been promoting the cause of threatened and neglected breeds since 1977. It has compiled a list of more than 150 breeds that reads like a passenger list on Noah's Ark, ranging from donkeys (including the Poitou, which resembles Eeyore, the forlorn donkey in "Winnie-the-Pooh") to sheep and turkeys.
Bender said the conservancy's primary goal is preserving these colorful and unusual breeds from extinction. The idea is to preserve the diversity of farm animals, as well as the history they embody.
When a breed is gone, Bender said, "The culture is being lost, the flavors are being lost, the traditions are being lost."
Some of those traditions date to the Spanish and English settlers who first arrived on our shores. They include the Pineywoods cattle, found primarily in Florida, Mississippi and Alabama; and Colonial Spanish horses, which include the Marsh Tacky. Chincoteague ponies, celebrated in the classic 1947 children's book, "Misty of Chincoteague," are a diluted link to the Colonial Spanish.
Ayrshire Farm is among the most spectacular settings for the rescue mission of breed preservationists.
Founded in Virginia's Piedmont region by Cisco Systems co-founder Sandy Lerner, its primary focus is English livestock.
The farm has a menagerie of livestock out of a children's book: Scottish Highland cattle, which resemble a woolly mammoth with their shaggy, butterscotch-colored coats and curved horns; Gloucestershire Old Spot Pigs, with ears that flop over their eyes; the Shires, 1-ton horses with feathered legs below their hocks; and many other breeds.
Ayrshire raised 412 turkeys this season, a large number considering the estimated 30,000 heritage birds used for production in the U.S.
"This farm is committed to several things," said Don Schrider, who manages large livestock at Ayrshire. "One commitment is certainly keeping these breeds from extinction."
This Thanksgiving, Americans will buy 46 million standard Broad-Breasted Whites, the big-breasted bird preferred by the majority of Americans, according to the National Turkey Foundation.
The difference between a heritage and factory bird is stark.
The standard commercial bird will be ready for the table in 18 weeks, compared with 26 weeks for the heritage bird; heritage birds forage, while the standard breed will live its short life before a feeding tray; and commercial birds cannot mate without human intervention. A market-ready industry turkey is the equivalent of an 11-year-old child weighing 300 pounds.
The conservancy, Bender said, is not opposed to agriculture on a large scale, and it recognizes that heritage breeds are not going to feed the masses.
Frank Reese comes as close as anyone to that lofty goal. His Good Shepherd Ranch about 1 hour north of Wichita, Kan., shipped out 11,000 birds this holiday season throughout the U.S. His prices were considerably lower than Ayrshire's, excluding shipping costs.
Reese has 160 acres but works with 15 other farmers in producing heritage breeds.
His favorite: the Bronze, the iconic copper-bronze bird historically associated with Thanksgiving.
___
On the Web:
Ayrshire Farm: http://www.ayrshirefarm.com/
American Livestock Breeds Conservancy: http://www.albc-usa.org/
National Turkey Federation: http://www.eatturkey.com/home.html
Good Shepherd Turkey Ranch Inc.: http://www.reeseturkeys.com/
Thanksgiving Day Proclamation of 1789
by President George Washington
Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of
Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and
humbly to implore His protection and favor, and Whereas both Houses of
Congress have by their joint committee requested me to recommend to the
People of the United States a day of public thanks giving and prayer to be
observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many single favors of
Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to
establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.
Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November
next to be devoted by the People of these States to the Service of that
great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good
that was, that is, or that will be. That we may then all unite in
rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks, for His kind care and
protection of the People of this country previous to their becoming a
Nation, for the single and manifold mercies, and the favorable
interpositions of His providence, which we experienced in the course and
conclusion of the late war, for the great degree of tranquility, union,
and plenty, which we have since enjoyed, for the peaceable and rational
manner in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of
government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One
now lately instituted, of the civil and religious liberty with which we
are blessed, and the means we have to acquiring and diffusing useful
knowledge and in general for all the great and various favors which He
hath been pleased to confer upon us.
And also that we may then unite in most humble offering our prayers and
supplications to the Great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him to
pardon our national and other transgressions, to enable us all, whether in
public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties
properly and punctually, to render our national government a blessing to
all people, by constantly being a government of wise, just and
constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed, to
protect and guide all Sovereigns and nations (especially such as have
shown kindness unto us) and to bless them with good government, peace and
concord. To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and
virtue, and the increase of science among them and us, and generally to
grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone
know to be best.
http://buchanan.org/blog/2008/11/thanksgiving-day-proclamation-of-1789/
Please remember those less fortunate then yourself (there are many). You ought to thank God for your abundance
Food banks can't meet growing demand
By Judy Keen, USA TODAY
Donations to many of the USA's food banks are not keeping pace with growing demand as the sour economy forces more people to seek help, charitable organizations say.
"We have seen a 100% increase in demand in the last year … and food donations have dropped precipitously," says Dana Wilkie, CEO of the Community Food Bank in Fresno, Calif.
Nationally, donations are up about 18%, but demand has grown 25%-40%, says Vicki Escarra of Feeding America, the USA's largest hunger-relief charity. Feeding America, formerly America's Second Harvest, has a network of 206 food banks.
About 70% of new clients are making their first visit to a food bank, Escarra says.
Problems elsewhere:
•Denver: The Salvation Army food bank turned away 198 people last month, says Maj. Neal Hogan. Red kettle donations there are about the same as last year's so far, he says — not enough to offset growing needs.
•Knoxville, Tenn.: "What we're seeing now is very scary," says Elaine Streno of the Second Harvest Food Bank of East Tennessee, which supplies food to 300 agencies in 18 counties.
"Our community is very generous, but when you don't have it, you can't give it," she says.
•Manchester, N.H.: The New Hampshire Food Bank has distributed 4.6 million pounds of food to 370 agencies statewide so far this year, up from 3.7 million pounds over the same period in 2007, says development director Anne Dalton.
•Toledo, Ohio: Demand is up 12%-15% and donations are not increasing, says Jim Caldwell, president of the Toledo Northwestern Ohio Food Bank, which serves 250 agencies in eight counties. Next year "promises to be even more arduous," he says.
•Peoria, Ill.: Demand is up 50% at many of the 125 agencies in eight counties served by the Peoria Area Food Bank, says director Barb Shreves.
•Visalia, Calif.: FoodLink for Tulare County asks the community to help provide holiday meals to 5,000 of the area's neediest families. This year, 9,200 families already have applied, says executive director Sandy Beals. Food supplies are down 45% from a year ago; demand is up 30%, and people are being turned away.
http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2008-11-25-foodbanks_N.htm
People wait 5 hours for free turkey, toys
WASHINGTON (AP) - Thousands of people from around the region waited as long as five hours to get a free turkey, the trimmings and a bag of toys.
The event known as Harvest Feast featured about 30 Washington Redskins players lined up inside the main level concourse of FedEx Field to hand out the goodies. It has been held for the past six years, but Tuesday's crowd was said to be the largest.
Among those who waited in the line that stretched around the stadium, 35-year-old Tomika Carter said she has "never, ever" done anything like this. She emphasized never.
Information from: The Washington Post, http://www.washingtonpost.com
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