This is just for fun –a tad bit tongue in cheek LOL–so read and enjoy!! AZG
The First Thanksgiving
Or
“What’s That Awful Smell?”
The truth behind our annual tribute to unbridled gluttony starts with a tender love story. Squanto, the English-speaking Indian so revered by the history books, was the last remaining member of the Patuxet tribe. Because Chief Massosoit of the Wampanoags had a tepee full of unmarried daughters and a nagging wife, he invited Squanto to supper. Their loveliest daughter, She-Who-Sniffs-The-Air-With-Suspicion captivated the lonely bachelor. Squanto loved the way her adorable little nose wrinkled and twitched and, even better, he met her number one requirement. She loved the way he smelled. The mingled odors of rich, loamy earth and bear grease set her heart aflame and her loins atingle. Before you could say Patuxet and She-Who-Sniffs-The-Air-With-Suspicion, along came Squanto Junior.
Happiness reigned until the day Squanto was summoned by Massosoit. The chief said, “Son, these Pilgrims are dumber than a sack full of arrowheads. Why, if you invited one into your tepee, he’d go crazy runnin’ around in circles, looking for a corner to pee in. If we don’t help them, they’re gonna starve and you know who will get the blame for that.”
Consequently, Squanto set out to offer aid and sustenance to the Pilgrims. He returned home late one evening where he was stopped by Mrs. Squanto whose nose twitched furiously.
“What’s that awful smell?” she asked.
“I don’t smell anything. What’s for dinner?”
“You’re not setting one foot in this tepee smelling like that!”
“Like what?”
She sniffed twice. “Rotten fish and a cooking pot left in the sun too long. Just what is you’re doing with those Pilgrims?”
Squanto averted his eyes. “Male bonding.”
“Come again?”
“Never you mind, Miss Bunny Nose,” Squanto grumbled, heading to the icy creek for yet another scrubbing.
On the third day, Mrs. Squanto set out, determined to find the source of the repellant odor. She left the baby, freshly rinsed and sweet smelling, with her favorite aunt, She-Who-Sees-Philandering-Men-In-The-Dark and followed her nose to the sturdy log home of the Cotter family.
She found Prudie Cotter, a thin, scowling women, bent over a steaming cauldron, ladling a foul-smelling substance into the bowls of five pinch-faced children. Their apprehension faded quickly when Mrs. Squanto unpacked a basket filled with venison, dried berries and maize. She fanned the air and asked. “What’s in the pot?”
“Gruel,” replied Prudie. “‘Tis all we have to eat.”
“Each day,” she said, “The men go into the woods with Squanto to “find themselves,’ returning each night with bony, inedible fish and a couple of sparrows. Yesterday, I had my son follow them. Tell her what you saw, Caleb.”
A bright-eyed lad jumped up. “They build a big fire and sit on logs. Then, they tell wondrous stories, scratch their private parts and break wind. By and by, they bring out a pig bladder filled with air and begin tossing it about and crashing into one another.”
Mrs. Squanto mulled for a moment then clapped her hands.
“I’ve got it!” she cried. “First of all, children, go to the field and dig many holes. Then, go to yonder pile of rotting fish. Put one in each hole with two kernels of corn and cover it with dirt.”
After the children scampered away, Mrs. S. said, “If you want your man to provide for you, here’s what you must do.”
She laid out her plan. Prudie covered her mouth in horror. “No, “tis not possible. The man is the head of the house.”
“You’re in the New World now, Missy. Trust me. It will work.”
Eight months flew by and so magnificent was the hunt and harvest, the Pilgrims invited Massasoit’s people to share the bounty.
Prudie and Mrs. Squanto smiled at each other across the groaning table.
“Have you noticed the men look full but unhappy?” Prudie said.
“Yes. It’s time.”
The two women nodded to Caleb who trotted into the cabin.
“Where did you hide it?” asked Mrs. S.
“Someplace he’d never look”¦under the dishpan,” Prudie said.
Caleb returned, blowing air into a pig’s bladder. With a roar of excitement, somber Pilgrims dressed in black and Native Americans in feathers and buckskin rose as one and converged upon the boy, their manly faces alight with happiness. Soon the pig’s bladder sailed through the air followed by whoops of joy as the men crashed into each other and landed face first in the mud.
A smile of contentment lit the face of She-Who-Sniffs-The-Air-With-Suspicion. There was food aplenty and the ghastly smell of gruel and dead fish no longer clung to her husband.
She turned to Prudie. “Told you it would work.”
They exchanged high fives and did what women always do after a feast. They cleaned up.
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Betty Peterson
14 years agoEntertaining.