Column: Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go!

Dear readers,

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving. Just a mention of the holiday brings back fond memories.

My first-grade teacher taught me how to trace my hand and make a turkey. I’m guessing that most of you proudly brought home your own hand-traced turkeys to display on the door of the refrigerator.

Thanksgiving art projects didn’t stop with the hand-traced turkey. Out came the construction paper. Children separated into two camps: Pilgrims made hats with a buckle on the front and Indians made headbands with feathers.

Thanksgiving traditions are as cherished as the taste of grandma's pumpkin pie and the sight of the infamous cranberry sauce that retains the shape of the tin can from which it was born. 

Thanksgiving is the quintessential American holiday, a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. It’s that time of year when we gather at grandma’s house, which somehow on Thanksgiving always smells of turkey, sweet potatoes, and nostalgia. Even if on most other days it smells like a combination of moth balls, liniment, and that incense they burn in Catholic churches at funerals.

Speaking of nostalgia, let’s not forget the history lesson that brings us together — the story of the Pilgrims and the Indians.

The Pilgrims, you see, sailed across the ocean on the Mayflower and ended their voyage by hitting Plymouth Rock. Not exactly the softest landing, but they were sturdy folk. They named their new home Plymouth, a name that sounds oddly appropriate for a place where you’re just as likely to stub your toe on a rock as you are to plant a cornfield. 

When I was a boy, we made our way over the river and through the woods on Thanksgiving in style traveling in a 1957 Plymouth. A great car with giant fins. 

Oops, I got off topic there for a moment. Where were we. Oh yeah, well those pilgrims weren’t just sturdy they were also friendly. Being from England their manners were excruciatingly proper. The pilgrims were having a three-day Thanksgiving party and extended a formal invitation to their neighbors, the Wampanoag Indians. 

I know some of you find it hard to believe that the first Thanksgiving really lasted for three days. You question how the Pilgrims and Indians could have gotten along for three days when you find it difficult to stay in the same house with your in-laws for a couple of hours. Truth be told, it wasn’t easy for the Indians either.

According to Pilgrim folklore, some members of the Wampanoag tribe were still a bit miffed about the Pilgrims moving into the neighborhood. After all, the Indians had enjoyed having the place all to themselves for over 10,000 years. 

The Pilgrims smoothed things over that first Thanksgiving by letting the Indians take the centerpiece home. It was a magnificent goat’s horn overflowing with flowers, fruit, and nuts. Called a cornucopia, it remains a symbol of the holiday today.

Almost as an afterthought, the Pilgrims also promised, if they ever took over the entire continent, they would name the NFL team in their capital city after the Indians. The Pilgrims kept their promise and that is why it became a tradition on Thanksgiving to watch a football game featuring the Washington Redskins. 

Unfortunately, that tradition came to an end when the Redskins had a name change and became the Commanders.

The Wampanoag had the last laugh. Prior to the name change on Thanksgiving 2020, the Redskins gave the Cowboys a severe beating with a final score of 41-16.

 So, this Thanksgiving, as you navigate through the culinary landscape of turkey, sweet potatoes, and canned cranberry sauce, take a moment to appreciate the simple joy of it all. After all, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of being home for the holidays, where the past and present blend into a feast for the heart and stomach.

See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.

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