Squanto

image from wikipedia.com 

Squanto

“I am Squanto, known to all of you. As we gather 

here I give thanks for all our people to the Creator

of All Things.”--Squanto.

400 years ago, more than half the Pilgrims, who 

came to the New World on the Mayflower, perished 

from malnutrition and disease. Enter Squanto, the

last of the Patuxet, to save the day, to pave the way. 

He had been taken as a slave by the Spanish, and 

then lived in England for years; so he spoke English. 

He was a translator for the friendly Wampanoag tribe. 

They taught the Pilgrims how to farm, introducing them

to corn, teaching them how to fish and hunt in this

wild new land. Deer and wild turkey were plentiful.

In October 1621, they held a “Thanksgiving” 

festival; not a new concept, but in that place and

that time, it was brand new. It was attended by 90

Indians and 53 settlers. They had no ovens, so they

cooked the “native” way, on spits over open fire pits.

They had no sugar, so there were no desserts. 

Potatoes and corn were cooked on sticks. The menu

was heavy with turkey and venison, but they also had

lobster and swan and seal. 

This unity, peace, and brotherhood, unfortunately, was

not prolific in the Colonies. Perhaps it was Providence

that Squanto appeared, or perhaps just blind luck, but

I am thankful for the kindness and fellowship that 

helped to launch this nation. Sadly, today it is a rare

commodity, a true sharing that is sorely missed.

That first Thanksgiving

was a success, those following

have shown much less heart.

Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub