Thanksgiving is a national holiday celebrated on different dates in the United States of America (US), Canada, Grenada, Saint Lucia, Liberia, and unofficially in countries such as Brazil and the Philippines.
It began as a day of giving thanks for the blessings of the harvest and of the preceding year (similarly named harvest festival holidays occur throughout the world during autumn, including in Germany and Japan).
Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday of October in Canada and on the fourth Thursday of November in the US and around the same part of the year in other places.
Although Thanksgiving has historical roots in religious and cultural traditions, it has long been celebrated as a secular holiday as well.
The Thammasat University Library collection includes a number of books about Thanksgiving traditions.
This year Thanksgiving falls on 28 November, which is after Loy Krathong, a festival that is naturally more widely celebrated in the Kingdom.
Food historians, sociologists, students of folklore, anthropologists, and others may be interested to investigate what past generations have considered appropriate to eat on Thanksgiving.
For many American people, Thanksgiving is a time to eat special foods.
For example, a traditional meal on Thanksgiving in some countries includes turkey.
This is probably because years ago, when the pilgrims in America celebrated the first Thanksgiving, they ate wild turkeys.
In 1621, the Plymouth colonists and Native Americans shared an autumn harvest feast that is acknowledged today as one of the first Thanksgiving celebrations in the colonies. Some other traditional dishes do not date back this far.
Here are some poems in the public domain about Thanksgiving by authors, some of whom are represented in the TU Library collection:
*
Thanksgiving Day
by Lydia Maria Child
Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather’s house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood—
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes
And bites the nose
As over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring
“Ting-a-ling-ding”,
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river, and through the wood
Trot fast, my dapple-gray!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting-hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate.
We seem to go
Extremely slow,—
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood—
Now grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!
*
Merry Autumn
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
*
The Harvest Moon
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer’s close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
*
Thanksgiving
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
We walk on starry fields of white
And do not see the daisies;
For blessings common in our sight
We rarely offer praises.
We sigh for some supreme delight
To crown our lives with splendor,
And quite ignore our daily store
Of pleasures sweet and tender.
Our cares are bold and push their way
Upon our thought and feeling.
They hand about us all the day,
Our time from pleasure stealing.
So unobtrusive many a joy
We pass by and forget it,
But worry strives to own our lives,
And conquers if we let it.
There’s not a day in all the year
But holds some hidden pleasure,
And looking back, joys oft appear
To brim the past’s wide measure.
But blessings are like friends, I hold,
Who love and labor near us.
We ought to raise our notes of praise
While living hearts can hear us.
Full many a blessing wears the guise
Of worry or of trouble;
Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,
Who knows the mask is double.
But he who has the faith and strength
To thank his God for sorrow
Has found a joy without alloy
To gladden every morrow.
We ought to make the moments notes
Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
The hours and days a silent phrase
Of music we are living.
And so the theme should swell and grow
As weeks and months pass o’er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,
A grand Thanksgiving chorus.
*
A Thank-Offering
Lord God, the winter has been sweet and brief
In this fair land;
For us the budded willow and the leaf,
The peaceful strand.
For us the silver nights and golden days,
The violet mist;
The pearly clouds pierced with vibrating rays
Of amethyst.
At evening, every wave of our blue sea
Hollowed to hold
A fragment of the sunset’s mystery—
A fleck of gold.
The crimson haze is on the alder trees
In places lush;
Already sings with sweet and lyric ease
The western thrush.
Lord God, for some of us the days and years
Have bitter been;
For some of us the burden and the tears,
The gnawing sin.
For some of us, O God, the scanty store,
The failing bin;
For some of us the gray wolf at the door,
The red, within!
But to the hungry Thou hast given meat,
Hast clothed the cold;
And Thou hast given courage strong and sweet
To the sad and old.
And so we thank Thee, Thou most tender God,
For the leaf and flower;
For the tempered winds, and quickening, velvet sod,
And the gracious shower.
Yea, generous God, we thank Thee for this land
Where all are fed,
Where at the doors no freezing beggars stand,
Pleading for bread.
*
(All images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)