As I sit here just a few miles from where the original was held, I wanted to extend to all of you a Happy Thanksgiving. For those of you outside of America, Thanksgiving is our annual holiday where we gather with family and friends, eat and drink ourselves silly, then wake up hung-over the next day to spend all of our money on Christmas. No really, that’s what we do. We blend the deadly sins of sloth, gluttony and consumerism to make the ultimate holiday. I suppose Thanksgiving is now surpassing Valentine’s Day as my favorite holiday, which is saying a lot for me.
The original settlers that started the whole Thanksgiving thing were called “Pilgrims”, people so uptight that the English kicked them out. (How uptight do you have to be for that to happen?) Like many who went to my high school, I count six of the Mayflower descendants as my family, including John Howland who fell off the boat half-way across because he was drunk (this is the oral tradition in my family), and Elizabeth Tilly, the poor fourteen year old girl John married after her parents died, proceeding to impregnate her some fifteen times in twenty years. Growing up, we saw many visitors looking for their Mayflower descendants, which still causes me to ask… why? Near as I can tell, the Pilgrims were long on fortitude, God and fornicating. Not much else. And, given that my family has been stuck on and around the Cape Cod sandbar for, oh, almost 400 years only proves that Pilgrims lead to massive imbreeding and a distinct lack of ambition. I can drive to Plymouth Rock from my house in about twenty minutes; you would have thought my family would have gone a bit farther in life.
The church my family attends is one of the oldest Congrgational Churches, gathered in London in 1616, and deported soon thereafter to the Cape’s sandy shores. At the Sunday service, as is the tradition, the minister read an account from the first Pilgrim Thanksgiving:
You shall understand, that in this little time, that a
few of us have been here, we have built seven dwelling-houses, and four
for the use of the plantation, and have made preparation for divers
others. We set the last spring some twenty acres of Indian corn, and
sowed some six acres of barley and peas, and according to the manner of
the Indians, we manured our ground with herrings or rather shads, which
we have in great abundance, and take with great ease at our doors. Our
corn did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of
Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth
the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown, they came up very
well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom.
Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling,
that so we might after have a special manner rejoice together after we
had gathered the fruit of our labors; they four in one day killed as
much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the company almost a
week, at which time amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms,
many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their
greatest King Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we
entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which
they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon
the captain, and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as
it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far
from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.
And what do I hear? Entrepeneuring. Pilgrim venture capitalists sticking the fish on top of the corn, with a successful exit. Unfortunately, the business plan didn’t work out for the peas. Market timing, apparently. Indeed, it continued with a man named James Otis, a member of our church, who travelled to Boston and gave the famous four hour sermon that included such gems as “No taxation without representation” and “Every man’s home is his castle.” Modern translation: founders dislike preferential shares. The Native Americans? Management consultants and contractors.
Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving to you – wether you be Pigrim, founder, venture capitilist or glutton. At least we can be thankful that 2008 wasn’t like 2009 promises to be.