I don’t know about you, but at this time of year I always think of work. It s harvest time. Because of the years I spent in the MidWest, I was around people who were harvesting produce, bringing in the crop for the year. The quirks of nature notwithstanding, they would be reaping what they had sown. The result of their work was visible, and commensurate to the amount of effort and care they had put into it. They also had an ending. The crop that had been planted was now being harvested. Then it would all begin again.

We do not all have work like this.

My musings started the first of October this year, as I volunteered a lot of time working at the church’s pumpkin patch, which raises $50,000 each year for local charities.

Most of the time I just sold pumpkins, but two Saturdays we unloaded huge trucks of pumpkins hauled in from a Navajo pumpkin farm in another state.
We formed a chain of humans and passed the pumpkins down the line to eventually be arranged on the church lawn.

On one side of me were 2 parolees doing community service time. They talked about how much better this job was than the one they d done earlier, and how nice it was to be out in the sunshine. Both of them expected to be out by Christmas. I didn t ask them what they were in for.

On the other side of me were teenagers from the youth choir who complained a lot about how hard it was and had to be reminded to pay attention. I’m sure they couldn’t imagine working at anything for 8 hours in a row, especially something so, like, boring, dude.

The pumpkins came down the line in various sizes and shapes, shiny and wet, some with dirt on them.

It was very primal.

I wondered if the Navajos on the other end of the process had formed a line to pitch them into the truck. And if they took pride in their work. If they even saw the marvel of the pumpkins any more.

One time there was a middle-aged woman standing next to me. You re a good worker, she said. You don t complain. If only she knew how much I was enjoying myself.

I was raised with the work ethic, I said. It s stood me in good stead. Having been taught that work was work and play was play somehow frees me from the complaining side and allows me to enjoy work. Most of the time anyway.

As the pumpkins passed by us we noted you couldn’t tell how much one would weigh by looking. There were some surprises. It s the density.
Such different shapes, too. Squash someone would yell and down would come a pumpkin that didn t know it was a pumpkin. Sometimes nature errs. What is the line between pumpkin and squash anyway? One or the other must have been a mutant at some time. How exciting to discover one. There s no such thing as a mistake, I m reminded.

Twice a “perfect” pumpkin came down the line and work slowed as each person paused to admire it. No one reprimanded, “Move it along.” We understood our mutual need to appreciate perfection when it comes our way. Once in a lifetime twice on the pumpkin line life is sweet indeed. We have the archetype of the perfect pumpkin, and the perfect woman, and the perfect love affair, and the perfect job. (Hope you’ve had yours!)

I enjoy that kind of work a lot. Touching things with my hands, physical labor. It’s a nice change of pace for me. I work with my head, with people, with ideas, and with computers.

We were a human assembly-line and I thought of the people who do that kind of work for a living. Maybe you do. We were able to talk, and were outside on two beautiful, sunny, breezy days. And it was only for 3 hours. I wondered what it would be like 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.

Abruptly it was over. No more, they yelled, and we passed it on down the line. As we workers scattered, I gazed over the sunny scene. The pumpkins, which had grown on the ground were back there, only clean, and arranged orderly by size this time. Ashes to ashes, I thought, to the same place returneth, but then the scene became dynamic. The pumpkins had a lot in store for them. Already some were being used as backdrops for family photographs, while others were being carted off to become a jack-o-lantern, lawn pumpkin, or pumpkin pie.

My job, now completed, was part of a much larger scenario, yet from it I had harvested much.

At Thanksgiving time, a time of harvest and bounty, I invite you to reflect on your work and your life — the mission and meaning side of it. The planting of the seed part of it. The reaping what you have sown part of it. Have you? Will you?

About the Author

Susan Dunn, MA, Emotional Intelligence Coach, http://www.susandunn,cc . I offer coaching, Internet courses and ebooks around emotional intelligence for career, relationships, transition, resilience. I train and certify EQ coaches. For more information on this fast, affordable, comprehensive, no-residency program, mailto:sdunn@susandunn.cc .

The door to my office exploded as hundreds, at least it seemed like that many to me, of children surrounded my desk. My defenses were down and the merry mob held me captive. Wisely, I decided to surrender and throw myself on the mercy of the gang.

Simultaneously, and in hi-fi stereophonic sound, the children assaulted me with questions.

“Pastor, what’s ya doin’?”

“Pastor, is that your computer?”

“Who’s that in the picture?”

“Pastor, are you working?”

“Pastor, why? … why? … why?”

As soon as I dealt with one question, three more emerged and it seemed as though the supply was endless. Should the little crowd run out of questions, they could always begin all over again. Moreover, I believe they did several times.

Admittedly, to hear, let alone answer each question, would have required a Moses-proportion miracle of parting the Red Sea. I chuckled to myself when I realized they didn’t need me, or even want me to answer all their questions, as strange as it seemed.

The little pack really wanted to know if I had an ear for them. And I did two, as a matter of fact.

We see the tragedy of life in the fact that as people grow older they seem to lose their sense of inquiry. Answers replace questions.

I remember what my good friend and spiritual mentor used to say: “Beware of the person who has more answers than questions. Life must truly be a bore to them. I know they’re a bore to me.”

I think good old Frank knew what he was talking about. No person is poorer than the man who has ceased approaching life with a question. Or, better yet, the man who has an answer for everything.

The man who has all the answers hasn’t heard all the questions, yet.

Throughout the years, I have been plagued with many questions. All theologians have an overwhelming desire to explain everything and put everything into a nice, neat little package.

The less they know, it seems, the more dogmatic they are on what they know.

Questions are an essential ingredient of life. During my short career as a human being, and it’s been a full-time job, I have pondered many questions.

Questions such as:

n Can God make a rock so big He can’t lift it?

n How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

n Did God really create politicians?

n Why?

I realize some questions seem to be silly and don’t deserve an answer. A question, as I see it, requires an answer, and answers lead inevitably to choosing.

I don’t know about other people, but choosing is a little difficult with me. When I choose something, it means I must forfeit the other.

The discouraging aspect of this whole mess is it usually boils down to an either/or kind of situation. Either I choose the one, or I must choose the other.

I don’t like this very much. I much rather prefer both, if there’s really a choice about the matter.

This week at Thanksgiving, it all came to a head mine. The culprit behind the whole issue was none other than the Mistress of the Parsonage. Just when I think I have my beloved all figured out, I am forced to go back to the drawing board and start all over.

The gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, knowing my addiction to theology, posed a query to me. The difficulty expressed itself in a three-fold choice.

I still am a little confused about the whole thing, but somehow I maneuvered through the theological quagmire.

The Master Chef at the parsonage put it to me like this; which do you prefer? A pre-Thanksgiving turkey, a mid-Thanksgiving turkey or a post-Thanksgiving turkey? Her insistence was for me to select one.

To me there is a slice of truth in all three, which is why I staggered at the predicament.

What do I really know about things like this? As far as I was concerned, a turkey is a turkey is a turkey.

Moreover, a turkey by any other name is still good eating at Thanksgiving dinner.

My nutritional philosophy is rather simple don’t confuse me with options. Just set the blessed thing before me, give me a fork and let me go.

Unlike other years, this year a shortage of turkey threatened our little domicile and my wife was not sure there would be enough to go around. For this reason, she suggested that I, who bought the turkey in the first place, should choose.

This is the basic difference between the sexes. Women love to plan the meals ahead of time and in minute detail. Men just love to eat those meals without the necessity of any noodle-work.

The biblical adage is my motto: “And they, continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart.” (Acts 2:46 KJV.)

My philosophical mindset notwithstanding, my companion insisted I choose between roast turkey and turkey salad sandwiches. What a choice.

There are other choices in life far more serious.

Joshua, in the Old Testament, understood this. He challenged the people of his day to “Choose you this day whom ye will serve.” He also included a personal declaration, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

I’m with Joshua on this one.

About the Author

Rev. James L. Snyder is an award winning author and popular columnist living with his wife, Martha in Ocala, FL.

Celebrate your Thanksgiving with EQ and INTENTIONALITY

Thanksgiving comes soon
Review your basic EQ
Intend to enjoy.

POSITIVE OUTLOOK

Holiday at Bill s
I miss my own great stuffing
I focus elsewhere.

OPTIMISM

Christmas will soon come
I have way too much to do
Optimistic, I.

SELF-SOOTHING

Thanksgiving at Mom’s
My sisters will fight again
I will breathe deeply.

FLEXIBILITY

Dinner at Kayla’s
What’s this, we’re having a quiche??
I am flexible.

COMPASSION

Feast at the bride’s house
Lumpy gravy, burned turkey
Compassionate time.

RESILIENCE

Thanksgiving, no Chet
Resilient I have become
For this I give thanks.

HIJACKING

First meal for my boss
Will my fear hijack me now?
Not with my EQ.

INTUITION

The host is yawning
My intuition tells me
Time to go on home.

LIMBIC BRAIN

My child is crying
I choose to use empathy
Time for limbic brain.

REPTILIAN BRAIN

Doug holds me closely
We kiss while the dinner burns
The reptilian brain.

CHOICES

Introvert heaven
Thanksgiving alone at home
Extraverts gather.

CONSTRUCTIVE DISCONTENT

Stressed, we have a fight
Conflict resolution skills
Will come in handy.

CREATIVITY

Oven is broken.
Arnold must be creative.
He will grill turkey.

EMOTION MANAGEMENT

Tablecloth is pink
What s wrong with this holiday?
I manage my response.

TRUST RADIUS

On Thanksgiving Day
I meet many new people
Friends for the future.

PERSONAL POWER

On this special day
Good, bad or indifferent
I choose to enjoy.

About the Author

Susan Dunn, MA, The EQ Coach , http://www.susandunn.cc . The tools and resources you need for your personal and professional development. Coaching, EQ coach training ( http://www.eqcoach.net ), distance learning courses, eLibrary ( http://www.webstrategies.cc/ebooklibrary.html ), and the best in coaching combining techniques from psychology, coaching, and common-sense practical things that work. Mailto:sdunn@susandunn.cc for FREE eZine.

Several years ago, I was on a talk show, sharing some of these ideas to show our thankfulness.

During the break, one of the hosts shared with me their family Thanksgiving tradition.

With tears in her eyes she said, My mother taught us that many of the early settlers of our country starved to death because there was not enough food. Sometimes all they got to eat each day was five kernels of corn. When we start our Thanksgiving dinner, each person is served five kernels of corn on their plate. Then we each share five blessings we are grateful for as we move those five kernels of corn across our plate.

This story touched me. It is such an effective and dramatic way to actually visualize how much we have as we first witness the scarceness of food so many people have to endure before we eat our feast and enjoy our bounty.

Ways to Count Your Blessings & Show Your Gratitude
After prayer on the food, hold hands and take turns telling what you re thankful for.

Make a Thanksgiving Box–Have your family write notes about what they are thankful for and stick them in a box beginning a week before Thanksgiving. At Thanksgiving dinner open the box and read the notes.

On small cards or paper, write down the following categories on each paper:
person, day, place, experience, food, item
Go around the table and have each person draw out a card. Then that person tells of something they are grateful for from that category and why they are grateful for it.

On Thanksgiving Day hang a piece of posterboard where it will be accessible to everyone. Have everyone in your family write things on it that they are thankful for. See how many you can come up with by the end of the day. (Or write these on a roll of cash register receipt paper and tape it up around the room.)

Have thank-you notes and stationary readily available to everyone in your home on Thanksgiving day. Encourage your family to write a letter or thank-you note to someone they are thankful for: a teacher, a grandparent, a friend.

Invite a new family in your neighborhood or a lonely person to dinner

Go to a homeless shelter to help cook and serve Thanksgiving dinner

Gather food to take to a local food bank

About the Author

About the Author Teresa Hansen is the creator of www.momsmakingit.com sharing creative ideas to save time,
save money, and enrich your life! Visit http://savemoney.momsmakingit.com for your free e-guide Moms Making It! 111 Great Money Saving Ideas!
She is a wife and mother of five children.

There we were, newly married, living thousands of miles from either of our homes, in Durham, NC where he was in medical school. My husband was from Texas, and I was from the North Shore of Chicago. We came from two different cultures ourselves, and now were together in a new one. It turned out to be culture shock on top of culture shock as we adjusted to each other, and to the cosmopolitan student body at Duke Medical School.

CULTURE IS LEARNED

Culture is something we learn. It isn t related to race or ethnicity, religion or anything else, but it pulls from all those groups, and, especially if we ve only lived in one place, moved only in one social group, and/or haven t been exposed to other cultures, we tend to think of our own culture as sacred. However, so does the other person!

As we move into an exciting new world of global interaction, there are going to be culture clashes. Let s continue looking at this through my Thanksgiving Tale.

THE PLAYERS

The first Thanksgiving came around and friends from New England invited us over along with 6 other couples. Guests included a man from the Dominican Republic married to a woman from Spain; a couple from Missouri; a New York man married to a woman from Brazil; two French Canadians from Quebec; and two Australians who were not medical students, but neighborhood friends. Religions represented were Protestant, Catholic and Jewish. And, I should add, it included men and women.

As friends do, we all talked among ourselves both before the event, during and after. A lot of it had to do with figuring out what was going on with all these nationalities represented. We split into factions about what was right and what was wrong, often changing sides with different issues.

TIME & COMMUNICATION

Why noon? my husband asked. When are we eating? My husband liked everything organized with no surprises. I was more flexible, but willing to dive in and explore, so I called the hostess. It s buffet, she said. I fished around for more information, like when were we expected to leave, and could I bring anything, hoping she d reveal the menu. Her answers were typically New England, short and terse.

You didn t find out anything? my husband asked, when I returned empty-handed.

She didn t volunteer anything, I said. I did the best I could.

Why didn t you just ask her the questions outright? he said.

Because that s rude, I said.

You re too polite, he replied.

Then next time you call, I said.

That s the woman s job, he replied.

We and the Missourians arrived at noon:11, which was our cultural dictate; a few minutes late to allow the host and hostess to make last minute adjustments, but no more than 15. The French Canadians and the Australians arrived about 30 minutes later. The couples that included a Latino arrived an hour or two after noon.

How rude, said the New Yorker. How are we supposed to be able to plan? What do you do when you invite the Gonzalvos over?

Relax, said the Australians. We ve all got kids. Things happen.

The French Canadians spoke to each other in French, obviously disliking tardiness, then smiled and told us, Isn t this a wonderful Thanksgiving, avoiding dissension.

The Latinos didn t appear to notice their wandering in was anything out of the ordinary They were busy hugging everyone and having a good time!

How we treat time varies greatly among cultures. We had had our cocktail hour by the time the Latinos arrived, and were ready to eat, but felt they should have time for a drink and some chatting also. It was an awkward moment. Somewhere also there was a football game involved, the timing of which got messed up.

Don t worry about the football game, said the Dominican. This is Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving IS the football game, my husband said to me, soto voce, angry over that and also because he hadn t had any food.

THE ATTIRE

Everyone from the medical school contingent was dressed up, and in festive apparel. The Australians were in blue jeans. The social group also has a pull.

FOOD

At last we were invited to the buffet table. To me, it s a big part of the event, and I was aghast. Boiled onions in a cream sauce, a turnip casserole, a ham, tart cranberries just crushed and sitting in a bowl where was the turkey, the stuffing, the sweet cranberry jelly? I don t even remember what the dessert was, but it s for sure it wasn t the Ambrosia my Texas-mother fixed, or the Mince Meat pie my British-ancestored father demanded.

A conversation ensued about who has what for Thanksgiving, some of us trying to convince the non-American participants of what Thanksgiving was really like, i.e., not like this, but also not agreeing among ourselves.

My husband and I went home feeling we hadn t had a Thanksgiving. I didn t get the meal, he didn t get the football game.

THE GRACE

Approaching the table, someone suggested a prayer of Thanksgiving. The host (the highest status male present) looked surprise so we all turned toward the most known-religious man in the room. However, the host evidently decided it was his job, and began a grace. I looked around. Some had their heads bowed in prayer; others were looking around the room, ill-at-ease.

AMBIANCE

When they first walked into the house, the US participants looked around as if something was missing. What was missing? There were no Thanksgiving decorations. Nor was there a host; the hosts child opened the door and we went hunting for the couple.

I miss my dad, the Missouri woman told me, an oblique reference to the greeting-situation. He always greeted guests so warmly, with a hug and a big smile at the front door.

The Dominican-Spain couple missed music and dancing. In my country we dance after dinner, he said. Here, you sit and fall asleep.

He and the gentleman from Australia also stayed in the room where the women were after dinner; the rest of the guys went off to the rec room.

AFTERGLOW

Conversations continued after the event. The upshot was we d had a good time, good company, and didn t wish to appear ungrateful, but we all were left feeling homesick. Next year we d do our own Thanksgivings, we agreed.

However, the next year my husband and I found ourselves in the car Thanksgiving Day, on the way over to the house of a Pakistani couple.

Why on earth would they invite us over for Thanksgiving? my husband asked. It s an American holiday.

I think it s nice, I said. They re going to live in the US and they want to join in and learn new ways. I just hope we have turkey.

I just better get to watch the game this year, he added, ominously.

Over the chicken makhani and ras malai, unfortunately served during the last quarter of the football game, the Japanese woman on my right said, So this is how you celebrate Thanksgiving here.

CULTURAL CHAOS

Interacting with other cultures is challenging, and requires a lot of emotional intelligence. It requires flexibility, creativity, empathy and interpersonal skills, plus a lot of understanding and a sense of humor. It forces us to focus on what s really important the people or the details? It also brings us to a greater awareness of what our own culture is.

Emotional intelligence relies on self-awareness and then other-awareness and finding the common ground, with optimism and goodwill. Global emotional intelligence relies on own-culture-awareness, then other-culture-awareness, and then finding the common ground with optimism and goodwill.

About the Author

Susan Dunn, MA Clinical Psychology, The EQ Coach , http://www.susandunn.cc. Coaching for all your needs - transition, career, relationship, Emotional Intelligence, success, happiness, depression. Visit the eBook Library - http://www.webstrategies.cc/ebooklibrary.html . Mailto:sdunn for FREE eZine.

Turkey … Stuffing … Cranberry Sauce … Pumpkin Pie

This is usually what comes to mind when we think of Thanksgiving. Granted the food is yummy and worth waiting for however, let s not forget another import aspect of this holiday Being With Family & Friends .

Family & Friends, they are what make this wonderful holiday so special, and help create those special memories.

Memories …. Everyone has them and each is precious. I love being with my husband and two beautiful daughters, but I think my favorite remembrances are from long ago.

Nana s House

This of course was my beloved grandmother, who has been gone from us for many years, but will always be remembered with so much love.

Thanksgiving at her home was the best.

Our family is not very big but with the sisters, husbands and cousins it seemed like an army. My sister and I looked forward to spending the day with our cousins; we always had so much fun.

Of course the very best part of the day was when nana declared Time To Eat . The first order of business was getting seated at the kids table. Nothing special, just a couple of card tables put together with a paper tablecloth -we were a bit messy - put over them.

Then came the food, makes my mouth water now just thinking about it. Please forgive me if I tend to sound just a bit prejudice - everyone s grandmother is a great cook after all - but in my mind no one could cook like my Nana .

The amount of food was horrendous, as I said there where not that many of us but you d think the entire town was there by the number of dishes on the table.

Everyone had their favorites, mine was the turkey & stuffing - I always had a drumstick, and my little sis was a wing girl - although everything else was good, except maybe the veggies.

After the main course came dessert - yummy - which consisted of the usual pumpkin pie, apple pie and rhubarb - that was for my mom - plus one of nana s specialties Apple Dumplings . These were hot from the oven with a lemon sauce poured over the top. No one has been able to duplicate the recipe, although one of my cousins - you know who you are - has given it a valiant try.

Now you may think this was the end of our eating for the day, wrong. After dinner was complete, while the grownups were cleaning up and then taking a rest - just their bodies, the talking was non-stop - we kids - weather permitting - were outside playing. A few hours later - not kidding - it was time for the famous turkey sandwiches and any other left over you might have a hankering for.

Of course as they say All Good Things Must Come To An End , which meant it was time to leave.

After what seemed like an eternity of good-byes we piled into our cars and headed for home. Little sis & I always fell asleep on the way, thinking about our wonderful day, and dreaming about next year.

Today our family is scattered across the country and sadly we are missing some - although not in our hearts - but when possible we still get together.

But on those November 27th s when we re not able to we still keep our Nana s spirit alive with lots of great food, a tremendous amount of talking, and good fun.

So to all of you, no matter what your traditions maybe, enjoy the day, the food, but most of all your loved ones.

Happy Thanksgiving

From Savvy Home Decorating

This is a share ware article. Give this article away for free on your site, or include it as part of any paid package as long as the entire article is left intact including this notice.

Copyright 2004 Bonnie Carrier.

Wouldn t you just know it, muttered my husband, Randy.

We had already been driving for a couple of hours in a pickup truck that we had borrowed from a friend, and now it was completely dark.

What s wrong? I asked sleepily. I had dozed off only a few minutes ago.

It s starting to rain, Randy replied, as he reached over to turn on the windshield wipers.

Rain? In a few seconds, I came fully awake. If it was raining, that meant Mom and Dad s furniture was getting wet.

So far, it had been my worst Thanksgiving ever. Dad had passed away a month ago. My mother had died seven years earlier. When I was a kid, we always celebrated Thanksgiving at home. All four of my grandparents had died before I was born, and to me, Thanksgiving meant celebrating the holiday with Mom and Dad. But now, for the very first time in my whole life, all thirty-four years of it, there had been no one to spend Thanksgiving with at my parents place.

Randy and I did, however, have plenty of work to do at Mom and Dad’s house. A family wanted to rent it, and we needed to have it cleaned out by Christmas. Randy and I had been married for a little less than six months, and this was hardly the way that I had wanted us to spend our first Thanksgiving as a married couple. And yet, I knew it was no use waiting. That if we waited it wouldn t bring either of my parents back. But cleaning out the house seemed so final. The end of a lifetime. The end of two lifetimes. I simply wasn t ready. Although, if I were going to be honest with myself, I knew I probably never would be ready.

We had decided to take some of Mom and Dad s furniture home with us. My parents’ house was in west central Wisconsin, and my husband I lived two-hundred-and-fifty miles away in the southern part of the state.

After we had loaded the first piece of furniture into the pickup truck we had borrowed, Mom and Dad’s bedroom looked very empty without the dresser that they d had for as long as I could remember. In the top dresser drawer, my mother had kept some of her keepsakes, including a strand of blond hair. When I was a kid and had gotten my hair cut short, Mom wanted to save some of it. Dad s drawer held a few keepsakes too. His old pocket watch, for one thing. Dad always carried a pocket watch. He had been a farmer, and he said a wristwatch would never survive the hardships of farm work (dust and water, grease and oil).

In addition to the dresser, we had taken Mom s cherry wood buffet. My mother had stored her tablecloths and what she referred to as her good dishes” in the buffet. Randy and I were also bringing home the chest-of-drawers that I d had since I was a little girl. Although the middle drawer looks like two separate drawers, it is actually one big drawer. When I was growing up, I had been fascinated by the design and had used the big drawer for storing my sweaters.

But now, after we had so carefully loaded the furniture and strapped it into the back of the truck, it was raining, which meant everything was all going to end up ruined.

No, wait a minute. The furniture was not going to get wet. We had put a tarp over the load.

Well, at least we ve got a tarp, I said to my husband. By this time, it was raining so hard the windshield wipers couldn t keep up, even on high.

Randy shook his head. The tarp won t help much unless we tie it down better.

A few minutes later, my husband pulled off at a gas station.

But what are we going to tie it down WITH? I asked, as the truck swayed in a gust of wind that hit it broadside. We hadn t counted on wind and rain or that we would need more rope.

Randy smiled. These, he said, bending down to pull the laces out of his work boots. If I cut them into pieces, I should have enough to go around.

It was still raining when we arrived home several hours later, so Randy put the truck in the garage. The next day I could hardly believe my eyes when we discovered that the furniture had suffered only a few wet spots here and there, but that nothing had gotten completely soaked.

What would I do without you? I said to my husband as I ran my hand over Mom and Dad’s dresser. I never would have thought of shoelaces. Not in a million years.

Randy shrugged. I couldn t let your mom and dad s furniture get ruined, could I? What kind of a person would I be if I let that happen?

And just then it dawned on me that even though it had seemed like my worst Thanksgiving ever, I actually had quite a few things to be thankful for. And my husband was right at the top of the list.

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The legend of Thanksgiving goes back more than 350 years. We have all heard the story about how the Pilgrims spent Thanksgiving with the Natives and ate fully, but is this what really happened?

The Wampanoag Indians were descendants of the Iroquois who had spent their time in New England for thousands of years. The tribe lived off the land by hunting deer and other animals in the summer and early fall, fishing salmon and herring in the spring and then moved farther inland during the winter to seek shelter from the storms.

The group lived along the coastal region in round-roofed houses called wigwams unlike the Midwest Indians who used teepees in order to travel quickly.

The people were friendly and hospitable towards strangers. However a group of English travelers had saddened villages across the region by bringing disease and capturing many to be sold on the slave market. One of the villages, Patuxet, demolished by the English was one of a famous Native American, Squanto.

Squanto was a Native American who befriended John Weymouth (an English Explorer) and headed back to England in order to learn their customs speak English and become Christian. During his stay, a British Slaver captured Squanto and sold him to the Spanish in the Caribbean. Luckily a Spanish Franciscan priest helped Squanto back to England where he would pay Weymouth to bring him back to his homeland.

On his return home Squanto had realized his village was deserted and left with skeletons. The neighboring tribe of Wampanoag took Squanto in and treated him as their own.

As the year went on the neighboring Pilgrims grew weaker and couldn t survive much longer. Luckily, the Wampanoag came to the rescue. The Wampanoag brought food hospitality towards the people. Since Squanto spoke English he could easily communicate with the Pilgrims and show them how to grow crops and survive off the land. The two groups then spent three days together talking about the land and eating food.

As the years passed, more Pilgrims came and forgot about the friendly Natives. They stole land, tortured and enslaved the Wampanoag while the rest were left foodless and with disease.

For many, Thanksgiving is a time for rejoice and thankfulness for what our ancestors had endured during the early years, but for the Wampanoag it is a time left hard to forget.

About the Author

Gary writes for Poetry Quotes and Articles

1. How can you stop your son from fixing brined turkey with Poblano chocolate mole (is there any other mole?), apple and pecan spoonbread and pumpkin cheesecake, like Emeril? You can’t, but at least let him go straight to the source.

2. How to get cranberry stains out of linen? Here’s the spot.

3. Anyone know a good resilience coach?
Here she is, and she’ll be working through Weds. night. Book early!

4. What will youI do with all the Napa Valley (sorry) wine bottles when we’re through? Green Glass is your place. Eat your heart out, Martha.

5. An article to send your friends and family on how to be good guests? Go here.

6. Who started this holiday anyway? Go here. GO SARAH JOSEPHA HALE!

7. When’s the Macy’s parade? Go here.

8. How to get you email at your daughter’s house? Go here. But be sure and get your server password before you go.

9. Best place to bet on the game? Go here.

10. Where will Rick Rodgers be giving his Thanksgiving 101 cooking demo near you so you can send your son, the cook? Go here.

11. Help! Some ideas for a football-free Thanksgiving? Go here.

12. Where to get your FREE Pepcid AC? Go here.
13. A nice “comfy” dress for when it’s all over? Go here.

14. The words to Grandpa Tucker’s “Pum-pum Pum-pum Pumpkin Pie? Right here. Learn it. It’ll give your granddaughter the giggles.

And the one you’ve been waiting for …

15.Here it is! Turkey in the Straw to drive your brother nuts!

About the Author

Susan Dunn is a professional coach who helps her clients get their lives going! Visit her on the web at www.susandunn.cc and mailto:sdunn@susandunn.cc for FREE ezine.