So the year is winding down. The air is getting cooler. It’s 38 degrees in Helena, MT. It’s down to 85 here as I write this. (Sorry ‘bout that Helena.) Last year on Thanksgiving I wore a long sleeve shirt and jeans. Keys winter attire.
We’re about two weeks away from another Thanksgiving. It’s a holiday defined by its name. It goes back a long way. Growing up, we were all told about the “first Thanksgiving” in Plymouth in 1621. I’m pretty sure it didn’t go the way they taught it when I was in grade school, but it’s a nice idea. Settlers inviting their new neighbors over for a big dinner to celebrate a harvest that would keep them from starving during the coming winter. It kinda caught on but didn’t really go mainstream until 1789, when President George Washington declared November 26th a national day of thanksgiving and prayer. The Bill of Rights wouldn’t be ratified for another two years so there was no protesting about the separation of church and state. And most people still prayed back then anyway so it’s likely they wouldn’t have cared.