a pilgrim thanksgiving

Wishing you all a most blessed Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for you.

Every year we talked of visiting Plymouth Rock and having Thanksgiving dinner as the Pilgrims did that first Thanksgiving.

When both our married children had plans to spend the holiday with their in-laws,

we decided that it was time. Last November, my husband and I spent our first Thanksgiving away from family and home.

Most of all, we wanted to spend some time in Plymouth, Massachusetts exploring and doing some research into my husband's family history there. We wanted to have an authentic 1627 Harvest dinner, which we did and loved.

~~~ If you want to immerse yourself in a little bit of our country's rich history, this is the place to begin.

wonderful old ocean weathered timber framed buildings and fences in the re-created 1627 English farming village of the Plymouth Colony near Plimoth Plantation. The Pilgrim's first home in the New World.

But, along with the beauty of it were the stories of the people who once lived there. The harsh realities of the bitter cold, lack of food,the local "savages", dreary grey days, epidemics and the death of over half of the pilgrims who first set foot here on the rocky shores of Massachusetts. ~~~

I loved everything about it.

The simple practical beauty of it all.

Smoke crept out from the top most of the tule thatched roof tops.

The tall peaked thatched roofs.

Large and neatly edged or raised bed herb and vegetable gardens beside or behind every

house.

It was lovely.

a basket in a tiny window the community wood pile

the thatcher's coat

winter blue sky

repairs

a moments respite beside the fire

overseeing the thatcher

isn't her blue linen jacket and

pettiecoat lovely?

I had the chance to visit with this Goodwife.

She proudly allowed a close look at the linen hand stitching

I told her I had never seen such finer stitching.

How beautifully

it was made. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ While we were there we wanted to be able to see and learn firsthand a little more of what all the old family stories of being descendants of the "old Pilgrim" were about. To either dispel or hold on to the long told stories handed down through the family and

hopefully, at last, find out what really happened.

While there is much more than I can write here or bore you with, I will share this with you.

What we learned was that my husband's ancestor, Robert Cushman, came to Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1621. He had arranged the leasing of the Mayflower for the Pilgrims, but didn't sail aboard the Mayflower to America , but came on the Speedwell instead. The Speedwell developed leaks and had to return to England. He then took passage on the Fortune to America. We learned that he was well loved and revered by the Pilgrims.

There is a wonderful *monument to him at the Old Burying Ground. see below~

It was Robert's son, Thomas, who married Mary Allerton who, of course, then became Mary Allerton Cushman.

My husbands mother, Mary Ann Cushman,(Crocker) was descended from Mary Allerton Cushman.

I will never forget seeing the exhibit for Mary Allerton Cushman at Plymoth Plantation the first time we went to Plimoth. There was her journal and sewing...some other things...

things like this give me chills....

If my memory serves me, there was a letter she had written to her oldest daughter who was pregnant with her first child and Mary was pregnant with what I believe was her last child.

Mary Allerton Cushman was the very last of the Mayflower passengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~In search of the Old Pilgrim~

the Old Burying Ground after dark

After dinner one evening we pored over our brochures and maps.

From our map we found the Old Burial Hill Cemetery

We decided to go on an adventure. Right then.

I cannot tell you how the chills and shivers ran down my spine, standing there in the freezing cold, fog and dark (of course we went at night)

I took a few pictures out into the dark cold pitch black night...who knows what you might find.

I'm always looking for orbs and things of that sort.

It didn't take long before the dark and freezing cold cemetery, dripping in wet ocean fog,

soon began to lose it's charm.

We decided to come back the very next day.

It was a beautiful New England morning.

Perfect for a good brisk walk

to the Old Burying Ground.

and so, there, at long last, at the top of the long climb of stairs

in the center of this ancient and sacred place

my farmer met his ancestor,

Robert Cushman

well, it's actually a monument dedicated

by the descendants of Robert Cushman in honor of their

Pilgrim ancestors.

Robert is actually buried in England.

Seeing my husband standing there reading about this man we had come so far to learn

more about made me realize how very strong of spirit they had to have been.

I see that fierce spirit in my husband,

my farmer who came from such

hardy brave souls.

As you gather around your Thanksgiving table today

with your loved ones all around,

would you join me in a prayer of thanks for all

the American Farmers who are the stewards and guardians of the fields and earth

and thank them as they work hard

to feed our country.

Thank you my friends,

A very blessed Thanksgiving to you all,

Christine

~ Plymouth Rock~

it's actually a lovely white granite, not large.

which simply reads

~1620~

a pleasante afternoon

melting bees wax over an apple wood fire

This is the best time of year...when the fields are finally at rest, the leaves turn deep reds and yellows, the crisp chill air calls for a sweater and boots and the scent of wood smoke curls down from the chimney.

a pleasant afternoon to dip candles down in the old orchard.

~~~

The candlewicks are measured out by eye, cut and then tied onto long sticks with a knot on the end,

then slowly dipped into the melted wax,

lifting them and straightening by gently pulling the knot

at the bottom while they're still warm and letting them cool.

new candles cooling in between each dip into the hot bees wax.

of course, there's my naughty kitten,Willow, underneath....

batting at the candles while they cooled.

~~~

Katie & I visit and dip the candles together.

The grandchildren climb the old apples trees and eat their lunch sitting on

the branches with the kittens.

We take turns dipping.

It becomes a rhythm, dipping, straightening and hanging them to cool.

The air is crisp on our cheeks, the hot fire smokes and crackles, we hang our sweaters and shawls on a branch and decide that we should tie more wicks, it being so pleasant out.

the nearly finished candles after cutting them from their dipping sticks.

I warm a large knife and cut their ends on a wooden cutting board.

I stack them on the pantry shelf and in old baskets to store.

They smell heavenly and make no smoke and do not drip.

~~~

By the end of the afternoon, the wind has come up and the sky begins to turn a deep indigo. Storm clouds hang over us so close we could reach up and touch them.

We gather everything up into baskets and let the fire die down.

We made nearly enough candles to last through the long winter evenings in just one afternoon.

An afternoon of family and togetherness.

and afternoon spent that won't be forgotten, carrying on our traditions

with the children under the old apple trees

down in the old orchard.

Our traditions are just simple things

but ones that the heart never forgets.

I hope this finds you all enjoying this lovely fall with those you love

and making some

wonderful memories.

love,

Christine

happy birthday my beautiful brown eyed bird

loved loved loved.....

happy birthday Katie Bird...

love,

ma & pa

a holy place

my husband's church has walls made of wind and sky and air

a holy place found in a field of wheat rippling in the evening breeze

while the sun set lays every hue of deep yellow and red golds

across the hills like stained glass where the meadowlark darting from the waving grasses, sinks into the cool water of the ditch to drink, then flutters to the fence post where she sings hymns of praise with the owl and hawk circling high overhead. deer raise their heads from foraging the cut wheat fields and we are witness to the clouds in the east, the moon hanging luminous overhead... and in the cool dampness, a field of fragrant mint tumbling and soothing to the eye and the heart. I see his shoulders broad and strong, relax now and his head raise up to the sky. here is where he goes to give thanks, to be immersed in reverie with this beautiful place and meet once again with his wise old friend.

elisabeth wearing an early bonnett & we are besotted

elisabeth kindly allowed me to play

"try on bonnettes"

with her.

she is quite enamored with this one....

an early embroidered net bonnette

with tiny dangles...

perfect for her 6 week old little head.

oh, be still our hearts...

we are all in baby love here.

quite besotted.

resting up from mischief

twin fawns eyeing my kitchen garden

~~

a nibble here, a tiny footprint there...just opening rosebuds nipped clean...

the raspberry patch looking a little like a mouse had clumb up the stems and taken only the most succulent of the berries.

The telltale tiny bite from a yellow cherry tomato, still on the vine.

~~ I had nearly given up hope of seeing fawns down in the trees after this odd year of not many wild things coming into the fields and yard. There hasn't been the usual flurry of quail and pheasant, no large herds of deer coming down from the hills in the evenings to the cool green hay fields.

~~

This morning I was so glad to see these 2 little ones playing in my garden.

Somehow it makes everything right with the world.

and here they are...the naughty twin fawns. they nibble my lettuce and paw out newly planted peas. and even so, it makes me happy to see them again.

~

elisabeth caroline

safe in her daddy's hands

elisabeth caroline

~

our family grew this past week. in our hearts especially.

a little girl that we have all waited for

and loved from the moment we knew she was coming.

~

my son and his beautiful wife welcomed their first child,

a tiny pink rosebud of a wee girl

elisabeth caroline

bless you little family