Thanksgiving

The glossary in the back of my Bible defines thanksgiving as "recognizing and thanking the one who has provided a gift." That's pretty simple, isn't it? I love Ecclesiastes 3:12-13.

"I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil - this is the gift of God."

There's such a temptation to fret and fume when things don't go our way. This is especially true on holidays, when we strive to provide the best for our family and friends. But in the big picture it doesn't matter if the stuffing tastes funny, or the pie crust is blackened around the edges.

Even if your family (which seems perfectly normal the rest of the year, right?) suddenly exhibits new and disturbing degrees of dysfunction, it all pales in comparison to the goodness and gift of God. Aunt Martha might be making snarky comments about the teenagers' attire, or you may find yourself abandoned in the kitchen with a Cinderella-sized stack of dishes, but in the light of eternity those are petty annoyances which fade away.

Spend a minute or two in his presence today, and get his perspective when all you can see are the gnarled branches of your family tree. Then thank him, by faith, for his gift. Be happy, do good, eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all your toil!

Blessings,

~Niki

Turkey Drover Spirit

Our Thanksgiving turkey, hermetically sealed in its plastic wrapper, defrosts in my kitchen sink. With luck I'll remember to pull out the frozen bags of bread before I go to bed tonight. (I've been saving the heels and mangled leftover pieces of bread for most of this year in one of my many attempts at being thrifty.)

And although I've spent the last two hours reading e-mail, checking blogs, and posting comments, and am now several hours behind schedule, I may find time to de-string the celery and put together some of the side dishes for tomorrow's feast this evening.

Uh-huh. Right. I'll be doing good to get a shower today at this rate.

I made a frenetic drive to the superstore yesterday for supplies. I wanted to do the "made do with what you have" plan I suggested Monday, I really did, but mentioning it provoked a minor mutiny. Plus, my parents are coming up, and there are just certain ... requirements ... to be met.

 How old am I, anyway? At what point in my adult life will I stop trying to live up to those unspoken expectations?

In the light of our pre-feast shenanigans, I thought I'd share an odd bit of history about the turkey drive. According to oral histories, during the 1800s domestic turkey producers copycatted the cowboys of the day in getting their wares to market. In Vermont it was quite the social event, according to an interview with Peter Gilbert on Vermont Public Radio.

Before railroads, the only way to get turkeys from Vermont to market in Boston was to walk them there.  And that, throughout much of the nineteenth century, is exactly what Vermonters did, including Vermonters from the northern-most parts of the state.  Townspeople put their birds of a feather together, and, accompanied by wagons with camp supplies and tons of feed grain, they escorted as many as 7,000 birds at a time all the way to Boston.  Drives of three to four thousand birds were common in the 1820s and ‘30s.  Historian Charles Morrow Wilson says that about 1,000 birds was the minimum necessary to make the150 to 350-mile trek worthwhile.  It was a long haul.  The flocks could make only ten to twelve miles a day, and at least one drover was required for each 100 birds.

Boys scattered shelled corn feed in front of the birds, so they would walk forward, while others herded from behind.  Flocks might spread out for more than a mile, ranging in width from a few feet to fifty yards.  To protect the birds’ feet on such a long hike over rough terrain and November’s frozen ground, Vermonters sometimes coated the birds’ feet with warm tar.  They lost about ten percent of the turkeys to forded rivers, fox, hungry farm families they met in route, and other perils of the journey.

Two key facts to keep in mind are: big birds, little brains.  Wherever they were when the sun set, that’s where they perched for the night.  Their collective weight shattered trees.  Occasionally, so many birds perched on a farmer’s shed or barn that the building collapsed.  They sometimes mistook the shade of a covered bridge for dusk and simply stopped.  And so the drovers would have to go in, pick them up, carry them through the bridge and into the sun, where they’d perk up again and head on their way.

The advent of railroads and then, in the 1850s and ‘60s, refrigerated box cars were the beginning of the end for the great turkey drives, but some lasted into the twentieth century.  The notion, in the twenty-first century, of driving thousands of turkeys, or even two birds on a leash, from Island Pond south all the way to Boston is charming in its absurdity.

And poultry producer Norbest provides this information on their "turkey trivia" page (an excellent source of conversation topics around the dinner table tomorrow!):

In the early West, turkeys were trailed like cattle in "drives" to supply food where needed. One of the earliest turkey drives was over the Sierras from California to Carson City, Nevada. Hungry miners coughed up $5 apiece for the birds.

While the idea of being a turkey drover doesn't stir the romanticism of the early American cowboy, or the quaint pastoral image of the shepherd with his sheep, it does remind me of something to be thankful for this holiday: American ingenuity and determination.

Politics, the economy, and religion (topics we should avoid discussing with relatives during a holiday meal) are subjects likely to come up tomorrow as we wile away the hours between turkey and pie. If the conversation begins to veer toward negativity, tainting the holiday joy with conspiracy theories and general sour grapes, share the story of the turkey drovers.

America has always been, and will continue to be, a place where people -- since the Pilgrims and the Indians celebrated that first Thanksgiving meal at Plymouth -- adapt to their circumstances, apply their faith, and accomplish the impossible.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Your kids are ingrates? Whose fault is that?

"Thank you, God, for mommy and daddy, and brother and sister, and the dog and the cat, and my toothbrush, and the nightlight, and my teddy bear, and my pillow, and grandma and grandpa, and my fishing pole, and the car, and the hamburgers we got yesterday at McDonald's, and for my new shoes, and for church, and my Sunday school teacher, and for my pencil, and for the light bulb, and..."

Sometimes I wondered if they were just stalling bedtime, but the Holy Spirit would "shush" me before I said anything. Little ones tend toward thankfulness. Adults tend toward discontent. Somewhere between the toddler years and the teen years, thankfulness and gratitude go the way of blankies and binkies. What can we do to prevent that shift?

There's a slew of materials out there for "teaching" gratitude, from journals to coloring pages. Thankful leaves on bulletin board trees, and grateful feathers on construction paper turkeys made from the shape of a child's hand are wonderful visual reminders of what we're thankful for. But annual craft projects aren't enough to generate the lifestyle of thankfulness we want our children to experience.

An attitude of gratitude must be modeled by parents who practice the art of thankfulness on a daily basis. Mothers and fathers who demonstrate discontent (grumbling, complaining) 364 days a year can't stir up a little Thanksgiving day magic while they say the blessing and expect their kids to grab hold of it. The real question, and the real key for our families, is whether we will continue that attitude of gratitude while we battle the mall crowds on Black Friday, search out online bargains on Cyber Monday, and scramble through what has become one of the most stressful seasons of the year for many people?

It's Tuesday. Two days before Thanksgiving. Are you thankful today? Or discontent? Grateful, or grumbling?  Which one will you demonstrate while you rush around preparing side dishes, thawing the turkey, getting those last minute ingredients, and cleaning the house?

Years ago I read something about how we should be able to be thankful for anything. Thankful for dirty dishes because you had food to eat. Thankful for heaps of laundry because you had clothes to wear. (At the time I focused really hard on the laundry one... I estimated I was sorting somewhere in the neighborhood of 72 socks every week.)

If I want my children to be thankful, not ingrates, I'll have to model thankfulness for them throughout the year. Not just on Thanksgiving, not just in times of abundance, not just when I get my way, and not just when things are going well for me personally or my football team wins or my political party is leading the race.

I'd say with the turmoil and trials our economy, our culture, and our country are facing, we've got plenty of opportunities to model an attitude of gratitude to our kids throughout the coming year! Say your prayers tonight, children of God, and remember that child's heart of thanksgiving.

Blessings,

~Niki