It’s November — that transitional time when a sportsman’s heart turns to migrating ducks, rutting whitetails, and a surge of steelhead into the rivers. These waning autumn days brim with options, and sometimes the possibilities seem overwhelming.
With Thanksgiving Day arriving near the end of the month, woods-weary sportsmen welcome the chance to set rods and rifles aside and turn their attention to food, family, and gratitude. This sentiment was probably familiar to Pilgrims of yore, although instead of sport, their focus shifted from survival to a day devoted to giving thanks for their blessings.
As we hurtle toward the holidays, now is a great time to consider that original Thanksgiving feast. Modern hunters and anglers are in-tune with the earth, but nowhere near the original Mayflower crew, who hunted, fished, and farmed for their daily bread. Truth be told, our contemporary celebration is no more than a loose adaptation of the landmark feast of 1621.
Here in America, the traditional Thanksgiving menu consists of turkey, stuffing, rolls, and innumerable iterations of potatoes and salads, including the dreaded green-bean casserole. Then, after the main event, there’s usually an offering of sumptuous desserts, including pies, bars, and cookies of all kinds.
While turkey takes the spotlight during this holiday, that wasn’t necessarily case at the Pilgrim’s table. Their meal was a protein-packed affair that included venison, ducks, geese, swans, and passenger pigeons. Per culinary protocol from that time, meat was roasted over open fires, simmered slowly in pots, and thence incorporated into robust stews thickened with cornmeal.
But what about other upland game birds? Neither grouse nor woodcock were mentioned in the logbooks. It’s possible they found their way into the cuisine, as both were native to the region, but the Pilgrims probably would have caught them with snares rather than expending valuable shot on such small targets. And pheasants? Certainly not. They wouldn’t be imported into the United States for a full century.
Americans adore potatoes, but spuds were strangely absent at the first Thanksgiving, since neither white nor sweet varieties had been introduced to the region yet. Instead, other offerings took center stage, including onions, corn, beans, cabbage, spinach, garlic, and turnips, along with gourds, squashes, and pumpkins. All were easy to preserve and grew well in the temperamental New England soil. Calorie-rich nuts, including walnuts, beechnuts, and chestnuts, (before the nation-wide blight that decimated their numbers) were another staple of the time.
Fruit, including cranberries, plums, grapes, and raspberries complemented the savory offerings. According to a History Channel documentary, however, the equally loved and loathed cranberry relish wouldn’t make an appearance for 50 years, which meant most of the original Mayflower crew never experienced it.
Living hard by the sea as they did, the Pilgrims netted eels, fish, and shellfish, including clams, oysters, lobsters, and mussels. Seafood-based stuffing still shows up in traditional-minded New England homes but has fallen from favor in other areas of the country.
And now a brief aside. Regular readers of this column know I was raised by salt-of-the-earth hippies. We ate lots of garden-grown vegetables and fresh-caught fish, but eels were thankfully absent — a Godsend since my father had grown up in New York. Nevertheless, the pioneer kid in me pined for wild game, and I never understood why we always bought a Butterball bird when wild gobblers roamed our neighborhood in hoards, even back then.
To make matters worse, gun chatter was largely absent from our family gatherings. Talk about shotguns and rifle was mostly verboten, as the conservative Dutch would say. Some of my uncles called themselves sportsmen, but I got the sense that their deer camps were less about hunting and more about late-night card games and bleary-eyed mornings.
To this day I fantasize about recreating a version of that first Thanksgiving feast. Not that I need to harvest a suburban turkey with a matchlock, but incorporating venison or waterfowl into our holiday meal would have been a welcome addition. On second thought, I’d probably be the only one who truly appreciated the effort. My family isn’t overly fond of game, so shredded squirrel or flash-fried woodcock would probably fall flat. Ces’t la vie, more for me!
Either way, Thanksgiving is a prime time to swap stories — a pastime that hunters and anglers have perfected through the years. If we gathered around a table together, I’d relish the opportunity to hear about the hard-won gobbler you called in last spring, or the jump-shot ducks you bagged on the river. Furthermore, I’d love to hear a retelling of that bruiser buck you dropped with Grandpa’s old lever rifle. And while you’re at it, pass a slab of that steelhead — the one you fooled with a fly pattern we dreamed up last winter when the snow flew. I want to sample your prize-winning squash and chat about the beans you canned over the summer.
Four hundred years ago, the Pilgrims endured uncertainty and strife, sickness and loss, and these challenges haven’t disappeared from modern-day life. Contemporary afflictions assume different forms, but acknowledging blessings is vital to contentment. Physical nourishment is one thing, but memories are even more fulfilling.
As the season winds down, we remember a season’s worth of hits and the misses, all the fish netted and lost, and perhaps most importantly, an opportunity to rehash time afield with family and friends. Fellowship is what Thanksgiving is all about, and shared experiences are what fill our cups.