Thanksgiving: A Misunderstood History

by Sam Jones

The holiday that many of us are looking forward to this month is actually based on a complicated history of conflict and controversy. As disease threatened the very existence of Native American tribes across New England, the Mayflower pilgrims were dying of starvation. Sam Jones recounts how the social history of Thanksgiving saved some and devastated others in order to give celebrators a new perspective on tradition.

As a kid, I was always taught that Thanksgiving is an American tradition based on a feast held a long time ago between the Native Americans and my European ancestors. As the tale goes, the pilgrims welcomed the Native Americans to their celebratory harvest feast and the two communities lived harmoniously for years. I was also taught that the Native Americans felt, or should have felt, grateful for the pilgrims’ generosity and help. Even today, this narrative is still presented in schools and households from the point of view of the pilgrims, portraying the Native Americans as dependent and voiceless. However, a closer look at the history of the first Thanksgiving reveals that the opposite may have been true—the European settlers could not have survived without the Wampanoag tribe of modern-day Massachusetts.

Photo: Sam Jones

The first Europeans to arrive on the eastern shores of what is now the United States of America were not the pilgrims who settled Plymouth in 1620. Europeans from France, England, Spain, Portugal, and Italy had all been travelling and trading along the eastern coast for over a century prior to colonization. Many of these travelers were trading more than just steel and jewelry. In fact, some travelers killed and captured indigenous people to sell in the slave trade.

One Native American captured by the Englishman Thomas Hunt was a young Wampanoag named Tisquantum. Historical records do not indicate how Tisquantum evaded slavery in Spain, but he managed to learn English on is journey back to Cape Cod. Upon his return, however, the thriving Native American community he had been taken from several years before was nothing more than a burial ground extending north and south along the entire coast of New England.

Photo: Sam Jones

Along with their goods, the European traders had brought various diseases, which decimated tribes along the coastline throughout the 1500s and early 1600s—90% of the region’s indigenous population died between 1616 and 1619 alone. The Wampanoag tribe was one such group that was considerably weakened by disease—their numbers were reduced from 20,000 to 1,000. When Tisquantum finally returned to what was left of his tribe, he was met with suspicion and treated as a servant to his own people.

The pilgrims arrived shortly after Tisquantum’s reunion with the Wampanoag, but nearly half of them died during their first winter in New England. Without food or a proper shelter, the pilgrims resorted to ransacking the graves and storehouses of the Native American tribes that had lived on Cape Cod prior to being wiped out by disease. In the spring of 1621, the pilgrims first interacted with the Wampanoag tribe with the help of Tisquantum who was able to use his English language skills to translate. An unprecedented treaty-like partnership was formulated between the pilgrims and the Wampanoag tribe because both parties viewed cooperation as mutually beneficial for several reasons.

The weakened Wampanoag tribe needed to bolster its strength and resilience to defend against a rival tribe known as the Narraganset, which remained untouched by the spreading disease. The Wampanoag tribe strategically garnered a trading partnership with the pilgrims as a means for their tribe to exert power in the region as middlemen between the Europeans and other tribes as well as to deter the Narraganset from implementing an attack.

In the fall of 1621, the pilgrims and 90 men from the Wampanoag tribe gathered for a feast to celebrate their first successful harvest. This occasion is now commonly referred to as the first thanksgiving. The partnership between the Wampanoag and the pilgrims continued in a similar fashion for the next 50 years. During that time, several ships arrived in Plymouth to settle the new colony. While the pilgrims’ numbers and territory exponentially increased, the Native American tribes throughout the region dwindled as death and disease remained rampant. In 1675 one of the sons of the Wampanoag leader, fed up with the colonists’ laws and encroaching settlements, launched an attack against the colonists. In the end, the European settlers won at the cost of over 5,000 lives. Not only was their manpower and weaponry far superior, but the diseases they brought from their homeland certainly played an active role in weakening the Native American people as well.

The history of Thanksgiving that I was taught as a kid is simplistic and revisionist as it does not acknowledge that the Native Americans had strict intentions in interacting with the pilgrims. They were not, as I was led to believe, a helplessly ignorant group of people. They did not foolishly welcome the white man onto their shores, nor did they gratefully accept help from their future oppressors. In their weakened state, the Wampanoag tribe orchestrated a mutually beneficial partnership with the pilgrims that lasted for roughly half of a century. They arguably saved the remaining pilgrims’ lives, only to be incrementally pushed off their land and killed by foreign pathogens and pistols.

It is unknowable who would have followed the Mayflower pilgrims and in what state the Wampanoag and other New England tribes would have been in had a partnership not been formed. Although in the end, the arrival of the pilgrims in 1620 eventually did lead to the death of tens of thousands of indigenous people at the hands of disease and warfare. This is the history upon which we base our most cherished of American holidays.

Photo: Sam Jones

This year, Thanksgiving will be commemorated as a Day of Mourning for those who died as a result of colonization and as recognition of the continued oppression and racism against their people. Every year since 1970 atop Cole’s Hill overlooking Plymouth Rock, indigenous and non-indigenous people have gathered at noon for a spiritual ceremony followed by select speeches about the history of their people as well as the issues facing indigenous populations across the country today. The ceremony is followed by a march through Plymouth and concludes with a feast.

For my Thanksgiving celebration this year, I will still sit with friends and family to a meal of ham and roasted vegetables, corn bread and pumpkin pie, stuffing and mashed potatoes. I will still express my gratitude for all that I have to be thankful for. But this year, I will also be adding a new tradition—a moment of silence for all of the people at whose expense my successes lie. Because I do not think that the purpose of engaging with the painful history of this country is to make those of us here today feel guilty and ashamed or angry and resentful. Instead, I believe it is to acknowledge the voices that have been silenced and the backs that have been walked on. It is also to impress the need for more tolerance, greater acceptance, and heightened awareness. As we begin another holiday season, our traditions may not change, but the intentions behind them just might.

Sam Jones is a first-year AFE student with a specialization in sustainable agricultural development. She loves to cook and frequently enjoys a brisk walk in the woods. Her goals include getting a dog, growing all of her own food, and eating her way around the world.

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On the Present Past and the Struggle for Land Justice

by Kathleen Nay

On Wednesday, September 20th, Grassroots International hosted a reading and panel discussion with authors of a new book from Food First, entitled Land Justice: Re-imagining Land, Food, and the Commons at the Tufts Health Sciences Campus. The event was co-sponsored in part by the Tufts Urban and Environmental Planning and Policy (UEP) program, Friedman Justice League, and Friedman Student Council. Student Kathleen Nay reflects on what she learned. (A version of this article was also published at UEP’s Practical Visionaries blog.)

Land Justice Book Tour. Photo: Kathleen Nay

Land Justice Book Tour. Photo: Kathleen Nay

In undergrad, I had a history professor who liked to remind us that “the past is always present.” He opened each class period with a quirky anecdote tying the distant past to today. We learned things like the origin of the phrase “to throw the baby out with the bathwater,” and the ancient beginnings of practices we think of as quite modern: applying makeup or playing table games. He used the phrase as a mnemonic device to encourage students to remember the importance of history. While most of the historical snippets he shared escape me now, the idea that the roots of the past reach like tendrils into the present is something I still think about often.

But history is not always a quirky story about babies and bathwater. For many, historical oppression manifests as inherited present-day trauma. I’ve been reminded of this throughout my time in the Friedman and UEP programs, where I’m not only learning what it means to be an expert in my field (environmental and agricultural policy), but also where I’m learning to confront privilege in my life and practice, so as not to become a policy “expert” who ignores the lived experiences of others.

On the evening of September 20, around sixty people gathered to hear from the editor and coauthors of a new book from Food First, entitled Land Justice: Re-imagining Land, Food, and the Commons in the United States. Land justice is the idea that people and communities that have been historically oppressed have a right to land and territory. The book’s 20 contributors examine themes of privilege in property ownership; black agrarianism and liberation; women’s work on the land; indigenous leadership; migration and dispossession; the implications of transnational food regimes; land-based racism; and finally, opportunities for activism and healing. Notably, the volume includes a chapter on land access written by Caitlyn Hachmyer, a 2013 alum of Tufts University’s Urban and Environmental Planning and Policy program.

The evening began with a short mistica ceremony that grounded us, leading us to reflect on our relationship with the Earth and our place upon it. We honored those who have sacrificed (and are sacrificing) everything on the front lines of land justice; and reflected upon the ways in which we might continue learning and offering solidarity to those fighting for land justice. On the ground in front of us were seeds, soil, and signifiers of the struggle against capitalist interests and colonialist occupiers of contested land.

Mistica Ceremony. Photo: Kathleen Nay

Mistica ceremony. Photo: Kathleen Nay

Director of Food First and coeditor of the new book, Eric Holt-Gimenez opened with a reading from the volume’s introduction, which reflects on a mythos well-known to Americans and to New Englanders in particular, wherein Squanto [Tisquantum] shows the pilgrims how to plant herring alongside corn, to nourish the crop and ensure a plentiful harvest. What the mythic Thanksgiving story fails to capture, however, is that Tisquantum was a captive of European explorers. While held in Europe for 16 years, his tribes—the Massasoit and Wampanoag peoples of the “New World”—were decimated by disease introduced by the colonists who overtook their homeland.

The story of early America doesn’t offer much more hope for agrarianism. Over the next centuries, dispossessed British, Nordic, and European peasants led the transition from agrarianism to the Industrial Revolution, and over time agriculture became less about feeding people and more about feeding the capitalist machine that is corporate agriculture. Holt-Gimenez’s introduction to the book sets the historical stage by emphasizing that “racial injustice and the stark inequities in property and wealth in the US countryside aren’t just a quirk of history, but a structural feature of capitalist agriculture… In order to succeed in building an alternative agrarian future, today’s social movements will have to dismantle those structures.” When you begin to examine—really examine—the root causes of hunger in our country, he says, it all comes back to the land. The past is always present.

But there are seeds of resistance, and their stories are told in Land Justice.

The first author to speak at Wednesday’s panel was Kirtrina Baxter, whose contribution to the book centers on black women healing through innate agrarian artistry. In her talk, she introduced the concept of women as seed keepers. “Black women’s acts of creating are often relegated to carrying the seeds of the human population,” Baxter and her chapter coauthors write, but “through historical and contemporary narratives of Black women agrarians, activists, and organizers, we describe innate agrarian artistry as the creative, feminine use of land-based resistance to simultaneously preserve the people and soil.” Baxter et al. acknowledge women as creators—not simply as prolific wombs, but also as literal and spiritual seed keepers, carrying on the traditions of seed saving and telling “seed stories,” (the cultural missives that get passed down along with the seeds). Baxter’s chapter in Land Justice celebrates the historical resistance “of which Black women have woven quilts, sang spirituals, and foraged from the land for survival.”

Suyapa Gonzalez was the next panelist to speak. Though not a contributing author, Gonzalez is an organizer with GreenRoots, a community-based organization in Chelsea, Massachusetts committed to achieving environmental justice through collective action, unity, education, and youth leadership. Through a translator, she gave a rousing appeal for land justice in Chelsea, where much of the soil is contaminated from years of chemical dumping, and where 72% of households are renter-occupied. “After God, it is to la madre Tierra that we owe our lives. If [our Mother Earth] dies, we will also die,” she opened, and ended with a call for everyone to demand better protections for the land that gives life.

Panel speakers from left: Eric Holt-Gimenez, Kirtrina Baxter, Hartman Deetz, Suyapa Gonzalez (and Friedman AFE student, Nayla Bezares, translating). Photo: Kathleen Nay

Panel speakers from left: Eric Holt-Gimenez, Kirtrina Baxter, Hartman Deetz, and Suyapa Gonzalez (with Friedman AFE student, Nayla Bezares, translating). Photo: Kathleen Nay

The final coauthor to speak was Hartman Deetz, a member of the Mashpee-Wampanoag tribe and an activist for land justice and indigenous rights. Deetz owns two acres of Mashpee land in Cape Cod—two acres of land, he emphasized, which has perpetually been under Mashpee ownership and never owned by white men. He pointed out that North America is entirely stolen land, evidenced by the many places across the continent bearing now-familiar American and Canadian names, but rooted in indigenous words: Nantucket Island, Massachusetts; Narragansett, Rhode Island; Nashua, New Hampshire; the Dakotas; Ottawa, Ontario; Winnipeg, Manitoba; even Massachusetts itself. It’s a long list.

But the taking of indigenous land is not simply a footnote in the distant past. Here too, the past is present. Today the Mashpee-Wampanoag tribe is fighting the government for federal recognition of their tribal status and rights to retain ownership over 11,000 acres of ancestral land. Unfortunately, it’s a situation not unique to the Mashpee; in his Land Justice chapter, Deetz recounts his experience standing alongside the Standing Rock Sioux in protest of the Dakota Access Pipeline. People are still losing lives and livelihoods in the struggle for land justice.

Small group discussions. Photo: Kathleen Nay

Small group discussions. Photo: Kathleen Nay

The evening closed with a chance for attendees to break into small groups for discussion and reflection. My group took the opportunity to consider just how present the past really is. We reflected on how the histories of indigenous peoples and people of color, so deeply tied to land ownership (or lack thereof), are all but erased in our culture. I left with a deeper resolve to seek out those hidden histories, to use my profession and practice to amplify efforts for democratic community control of land, and to lend my support to organizations that do the same.

Kathleen Nay is a third year AFE/UEP dual degree student. This summer she discovered Native-Land.ca, a resource to help North Americans learn more about the indigenous histories and languages of the region where they live. If you have a zip or postal code, you too can learn more about your home on native land.

“Food Will Win the War!” American Food Policies During World War I

by Jennifer Pustz

“The consumption of sugar sweetened drinks must be reduced” . . . “use less meat and wheat” . . . “buy local foods.” These are familiar phrases at the Friedman School in 2017. But these slogans and many others could be found on posters one hundred years ago after the United States officially entered World War I in April 1917. Friedman student Jennifer Pustz a story from food history that may offer inspiration for the promotion of gardening, conservation, and sustainability in the twenty-first century.

One hundred years ago, on April 6, 1917, the United States ended over two years of neutrality and officially entered World War I. Although the war ended in November of the next year, the nineteen-month period of involvement had an enormous impact on everyday life in the U.S., especially when it came to food and government engagement in food supply and distribution. In Victory Gardens, canning clubs, and kitchens all over America, women engaged in a massive effort to produce, preserve, and conserve food to support the war effort.

By the time the United States entered the war, the issue of food production and conservation had become a top priority for American soldiers and European civilians. After nearly three years of constant ground war, Europe’s agricultural fields were ravaged, much of the labor force had joined the military, and trade was disrupted both on land and at sea. The result was a humanitarian crisis that required the assistance of the United States, whose policy of neutrality and geographic distance from the front lines had protected agricultural production from serious harm.

President Wilson established the United States Food Administration by executive order on August 10, 1917, and Congress passed the Food and Fuel Control Act, also known as the Lever Act. Herbert Hoover, a former mining engineer with prior experience in facilitating food aid to Europe, was hired to serve as the administrator. The Food Administration’s goals were broad—from regulating exports and managing the domestic food supply, to preventing hoarding and profiteering, to promoting agriculture and food conservation. In addition to the federal program, state branches of the Food Administration promoted programs that met the needs of their residents and responded to their own unique food production and consumption issues.

Food will win the war. Wheat is needed for the allies, 1917. Charles Edward Chambers, illustrator. Boston Public Library Prints Department. http://ark.digitalcommonwealth.org/ark:/50959/ft848v37p

 

Hoover took no salary to provide a model of self-sacrifice that he hoped to see in other Americans. One remarkable aspect of the World War I Food Administration story is the overwhelming success of a voluntary effort. In a report about the Massachusetts Committee on Public Safety, published shortly after the war’s conclusion, the author noted the following:

“At no point, even in the most intense shortage of sugar, did the Food Administration establish any legally effective system of rationing for householders; and in the case of both sugar and wheat substitutes, the selfish disregard of Food Administration requests, shown by a few, was much more than offset by the voluntary efforts of that great majority who went well beyond the requested measures, and brought about a total saving far greater than would have been possible by a mechanical rationing program” (311).

Efforts to increase food production targeted large-scale farmers to homeowners with very little land, and almost everyone in between. Even industrial sites engaged in food production. At the American Woolen Company’s 50 mills, over 500 acres were cultivated; factory workers produced over 45,000 bushels of potatoes, 40,000 ears of sweet corn, and thousands of bushels of root crops and summer vegetables. The industrial production was so successful that it was “recognized by many manufacturers that such provision for their employees is of great value, not only in contributing to the support of families, but in its bearing on permanence of occupation and on contentment of mind” (339).

Household Victory Gardens sprouted up in “all manner of unheard-of-places” and allowed homeowners to reduce their dependence on the national food supply by growing their own produce for immediate consumption and canning the surplus for winter months. The U. S. Food Administration advocated for raising livestock as well and promoted “Pig Clubs” for boys and girls. Pigs could aid in reduction of food waste by eating the family’s household scraps. In Massachusetts, the supply of pigs was unable to meet the demand for them.

A massive publicity and communication campaign supported the public adoption of conservation methods. Posters that promoted reduced consumption of sugar, wheat, and meat played upon emotions of patriotism and guilt. Literature on food conservation was translated into at least eleven languages in Massachusetts: Armenian, Finnish, French, Greek, Italian, Lithuanian, Polish, Portuguese, Swedish, Syrian, and Yiddish. More than 800,000 of these leaflets were distributed. A group of five cottages, surrounded by demonstration gardens, were located in the Boston Common between May and October 1918, where visitors could hear lectures, see demonstrations, and pick up educational materials.

War garden entrance on Boston Common during war with Germany, 1918. Leslie Jones, photographer. Boston Public Library Print Department. http://ark.digitalcommonwealth.org/ark:/50959/5h73qd62f

Americans who participated in home gardening and preserving their harvests took some burden off of the general food supply. In Topsfield, Massachusetts, a canning club provided facilities and services for fruit and vegetable preservation. For a 50-cent membership, one could order and buy from the club’s stock at 4 percent discount, send her vegetables and fruits to be preserved in exchange for the cost of labor plus overhead, or could do her own canning using the club’s facilities, which were open 4 days per week. In one season, the canning club produced 3000 jars of fruits and vegetables, 1800 glasses of jelly, and 500 pounds of jam.

Americans voluntarily adopted practices such as “Wheatless Mondays” and “Meatless Tuesdays,” as did hotels and restaurants, which participated in “No White Bread Week” between August 6-12, 1917. Recipes that conserved sugar, wheat, fats, and meat dominated women’s publications and cookbooks of the time. The 1918 book Foods that Will Win the War and How to Cook Them included this recipe for “War Bread”:

2 cups boiling water

2 tablespoons sugar

1 ½ teaspoons salt

¼ cup lukewarm water

2 tablespoons fat                 

6 cups rye flour

1 ½ cups whole wheat flour

1 cake yeast 

To the boiling water, add the sugar, fat and salt. When lukewarm, add the yeast which has been dissolved into the lukewarm water. Add the rye and whole wheat flour. Cover and let rise until twice its bulk, shape into loaves; let rise until double and bake about 40 minutes in a moderately hot oven.

Young people were not exempt from “doing their bit.” The U. S. Food Administration published books, including some for use in schools, to influence young readers who would pass the message on to their parents. Home economics textbooks for college classes applied lessons on macro- and micronutrients and energy metabolism to the state of the food supply in the United States and abroad.

After the war ended on November 11, 1918, the activities of the Food Administration slowed and the agency was eliminated in August 1920. The government implemented mandatory rationing during World War II, but since then, Americans have experienced little to no government interference with their food consumption. Many of the voluntary efforts promoted in the name of patriotism in 1917 and 1918 resonate with some of the food movements of today, such as reducing the amount of added sugar in foods and increasing consumption of whole grains. One would hope it would not take a war and a national propaganda campaign to change behaviors, but perhaps it is worth looking back one hundred years for inspiration to promote gardening, healthier and more sustainable eating habits, and reduced food waste.

Jennifer Pustz is a first-year NICBC student in the MS-MPH dual degree program. In her previous professional work as a historian, Jen’s research interests focused on the history of domestic life, especially the lives of domestic workers, the history of kitchens, domestic technology, and of course, food.

Works Cited:

C. Houston and Alberta M. Goudiss. Foods that Will Win the War and How to Cook Them. New York: World Syndicate Co., 1918; George Hinckley Lyman. The Story of the Massachusetts Committee On Public Safety: February 10, 1917-November 21, 1918. Boston: Wright & Potter Printing Co., 1919.

 

 

Thanksgiving’s Holy Trinity: Turkey, Cranberries, and Pumpkin Pie

by Jennifer Pustz

These three staples are the stars of many a Turkey-day menu, symbols of a celebration shared by Native Americans and the English in the early years of the Plymouth colony. But were these foods at the “first feast?” How have these headliners stood the test of time? Friedman student and historian Jennifer Pustz gives us the scoop.

The air is crisp and the leaves are turning red, orange, and gold. Pumpkin is the flavor featured in nearly every bakery and coffee shop. It is fall in New England. In the midst of midterms and heavy workloads, many of us look forward to Thanksgiving break for a brief respite filled with friends, family, and Turkey-day comfort food. As we know, many holidays are centered on food-related traditions, but no holiday is more deeply rooted in specific foods than Thanksgiving. Turkey, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie are the headliners of the traditional feast and evidence of their long connection to the Thanksgiving celebration may be found in the very best history books—cookbooks.

The fact that bountiful tables and cornucopias have become symbolic of Thanksgiving is somewhat ironic given challenges that English colonists faced during their early years in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Half of the first settlers to arrive on the Mayflower in November 1620 died during their first winter in the colony. Lack of shelter, disease (in some cases, like scurvy, due to malnutrition), and hunger took a heavy toll. The indigenous people of New England had long managed periods of bounty and want by moving camps frequently with the seasons. The English brought none of these skills and arrived after the growing season was over in September/October. Their situation slowly improved, due in part to contact with Native Americans who taught the English how to grow corn, a grain they may have known but not nearly as well as wheat. The English brought seeds for wheat, rye, and peas with them, but their early attempts to grow familiar crops in an unfamiliar place were largely unsuccessful. But a future successful harvest would be worthy of celebration.

 

Thanksgiving greeting card, 1907. New York Public Library Digital Collections.

Thanksgiving greeting card, 1907. New York Public Library Digital Collections.

 

The turkey has long served as the symbol of the Thanksgiving feast. Although the story of the first Thanksgiving is a mélange of myth and conjecture, the turkey may have actually been part of the celebration shared by Native Americans and the English in the early years of the colony. In his history of Plymouth Plantation, William Bradford mentions the plentiful population of wild turkeys. By the end of the eighteenth century, a recipe for stuffed turkey served with cranberry sauce could be found in the earliest cookbook written by an American for an audience of fellow countrywomen using ingredients that could be procured in this country. In American Cookery, first published in 1796, Amelia Simmons included the following instructions for stuffing and roasting a turkey:

“Grate a wheat loaf, one quarter of a pound of butter, one quarter of a Pound of salt pork, finely chopped, 2 eggs, a little sweet marjoram, summer savory, parsley and sage, pepper and salt (if the pork be not sufficient) fill the bird and sew up. . . . hand down to a steady fire, basting frequently with salt and water, and roast until a steam emits from the breast, and put one pound of a butter into the gravy, dust flour over the bird and baste with the gravy; serve up with boiled onions and cramberry-sauce, mangoes, pickles, or celery.”

The cranberry was a part of the native Wampanoag People’s diet for centuries before the English arrived. The colonists were familiar with a European variety and used it in the aforementioned sauce, and also filled pastries with stewed, strained, and sweetened cranberries. In addition to being a fruit that kept well, it had the nutritional benefit of preventing scurvy.

Traditional Thanksgiving foods remind us of the seasonality of foodways in an era before reliable refrigeration. It is unclear exactly when the first harvest celebration that became known as the modern Thanksgiving holiday took place, but it is believed to have been between the months of September and November. Therefore, vegetables harvested in the fall—pumpkins and other squash, potatoes, and other root vegetables—became an important part of the holiday feast. Amelia Simmons included two recipes for pumpkin pie in American Cookery. Of the two recipes, the simplest instructed readers to combine “One quart of milk, 1 pint pompkin, eggs, molasses, allspice and ginger in a crust, bake 1 hour.” In fact, pies of all types—sweet and savory—were a regular part of early American meals, not just on special occasions as they are more likely to be today.

 

Thanksgiving greeting card, 1908. New York Public Library Digital Collections.

Thanksgiving greeting card, 1908. New York Public Library Digital Collections.

 

For many modern Americans, the best part of Thanksgiving dinner comes the next day, when they turn leftover turkey into sandwiches, hash, soup, casseroles, and more. In 1877, a popular cookbook called Buckeye Cookery, And Practical Housekeeping offered recommendations for leftovers that might be considered tasty even today:

“After Thanksgiving Dinner a most excellent hash may be made thus: Pick meat off of turkey bones, shred it in small bits, add dressing and pieces of light biscuit cut up fine, mix together and put into dripping pan, pour over any gravy that was left, add water to thoroughly moisten but not enough to make it sloppy, place in a hot oven for twenty minutes, and, when eaten, all will agree that the turkey was better this time than it was at first.”

However you celebrate your Thanksgiving, be it with an organic turkey or a Tofurky roll, with or without cranberries and pumpkin pie, may it be filled with joy and gratitude.

The recipe quoted here (and many more) may be found on the website of Michigan State University’s Feeding America: The Historic American Cookbook Project http://digital.lib.msu.edu/projects/cookbooks. If you would like to learn more about Thanksgiving’s origins and food history, check out J.W. Baker and Peter J. Gomes, Thanksgiving: The Biography of an American Holiday (Durham: University of New Hampshire Press, 2010), which is available as an e-book from the Tufts library. And, if you’d like to see where history was made, a visit to Plimoth Plantation—an easy day trip from Boston—provides the perspectives of the English colonists and the Wampanoag People: https://www.plimoth.org/

Jennifer Pustz is a first-year NICBC and MPH dual-degree student. Prior to starting at Friedman, she worked for ten years as the museum historian for Historic New England, the nation’s oldest regional heritage organization, and prior to that as historian for Brucemore, a historic house museum in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Her research has focused on the stories of enslaved and free domestic servants from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries. She was also a contributor to Historic New England’s publication, America’s Kitchens (2009), a history of the domestic kitchen that cultivated a love of food history. In her new career, Jennifer hopes to weave the lessons of the past into the future of healthy eating behaviors, interventions, and policy.