Maybe first Thanksgiving soured early
November 24, 1989
A University of Florida historian reports that, contrary to American folklore, the first Thanksgiving did not take place in 1621 after the Pilgrims' arrival at Plymouth Rock.
Rather, the original feast supposedly was held 56 years earlier at St. Augustine when Spanish explorer Pedro Menendez de Aviles invited the Timucua Indians to dinner. The prayerful gathering was called to celebrate the Spaniards' safe landing on the Florida coast.
If true, this revisionist account of the holiday raises important historical questions. Why did tradition embrace the New England Thanksgiving instead of the original Florida Thanksgiving? What really happened on that autumn evening in 1565 when the Spaniards and the Timucua broke bread? Did something go terribly wrong to spoil the occasion? Perhaps it all went sour on the day after the big cookout, when ...
"Chief, you look awful—what's the matter?"
"It's those damn garbanzo beans. I should never have let Pedro talk me into a second helping."
"Speaking of Pedro, he and his men were up at the crack of dawn this morning. They chopped down many of our finest trees, and now they seem to be building something on our beach."
"I wondered who was causing all that racket. What are they making, another one of those ugly forts?"
"Not exactly, Chief. Pedro calls it a high-rise."
"I don't understand—what is that word, 'high-rise'? How would we say it in Timucuan?"
"Literally, it means Tall Box Full of Noisy Strangers."
"But why would Pedro put such an unnatural thing on such a beautiful shore!"
"He says he had a spiritual vision, Chief. He says that thousands upon thousands more settlers will soon be coming to Florida, and they will all need a place to sleep and eat and give thanks."
"What's he got against good old-fashioned thatched huts?"
"Pedro says the new settlers will want something fancier than palmetto. He says they'll be willing to pay major trinkets and beads to live in a high place with a good view of the ocean."
"This high-rise—exactly how high will it be?"
"Higher than the tallest pines, Chief. Higher than the eagles soar."
"Ha! I think our friend Pedro had a little too much grape last night."
"He seems quite sober, Chief. And his men are swift carpenters. I don't mind telling you, the rest of the tribe is very concerned."
"I, too, am worried—and surprised. They seemed like such nice fellows, these explorers. Much friendlier than the French. I can't believe they'd want to build a giant box on our beach and fill it with noisy strangers. What're we going to do?"
"Well, Chief, we could always eat them. Like we did with those Huguenots."
"Yeah, and we all had the trots for a month afterward, remember? Let's try to think of a different way to discourage Pedro."
"We could pass some tough coastal zoning ordinances."
"Naw, that'll never work. Pedro's lawyers would find a loophole somewhere."
"Chief, wait, I've got an idea! You know those funny little mushrooms that grow down by the creek? The ones that make the armadillos bark like coyotes?"
"Yes, the magic mushrooms."
"Well, suppose we invited Pedro and his crew back to dinner tonight. This time it would be our treat, a second thanksgiving."
"Hmmmm. A garden salad would be lovely for starters. Coonti roots, garnished with mushrooms."
"Yes, a bounty of mushrooms, Chief. And, later, cream of mushroom soup. Then, for the main course, wild buzzard stuffed with mushrooms."
"That should do the trick."
"After such a meal, Pedro and his men will totally forget about building anything on our peaceful beach. No more conquering, no more pillaging. All they'll want to do is run with the rabbits and fly with the hawks."
"Which reminds me, you'd better lock up the livestock."
"Good thinking, Chief. These men have been at sea for a long, long time."