Waking up is a ritual we all share. We take it in different manners because we are individuals in a mass society. Splash is the duty iconoclast at Refuge Farm, and he was up before most of us. We think it is the effect of the winter chill being more palpable outdoors. But with the rising sun under a clear blue sky, he was able to find an un-used plug on the Loading Dock and attach his electronic device for recharging. He was thankful for that, and it enabled him to be ahead of the morning’s seasonal litany of assault.

“It is funny,” he said gravely. “You spend a few decades in service to the requirements of the charter documents of this nation because it is a good place. Arguably the freest, most prosperous country in human history. And this morning, the first thing you read is that the idiots in New York City pulled down a statue of Thomas Jefferson to celebrate. The same list of stories had one about the Mayflower crowd oppressing the Wampanoag Indians. For them, or at least for those who did not live those lives it is fun for them to declare it is a day of mourning.”

“Fair enough,” said Loma, freshly shaven. “We fought to ensure they have the right to say what they think.”

Rocket looked at the remaining third of his first cup of coffee with hope there would be more. “Isn’t Thanksgiving part of the evolution of the annual cycle of the seasons, and an expression of gratitude for the Fall harvest?”

“And why did you call the Wampanoags Indians? They are indigenous people. Only those outsiders from Europe called them that. They thought they were someplace else.”

“There was a half century of peace up in Massachusetts between the Indigenous People and the deranged and oppressive Colonialists,” declared Splash. “And I am happy to be part of the force that now enables the people who claim injustice to say what they want. Even if it is a little loony. Do they just want to go back to celebrating a decent harvest where everyone has enough to eat? I would be thankful about that part alone, even if they don’t want to capitalize the word.”

DeMille looked thoughtful as he raised his right hand in a gesture of solace. “You forget this is a generational thing. Our parents had personal experience with some hard times. They worked hard to build the culture we have now. The one that guarantees freedom, provides material goods still unimaginable in much of the world, and a chance to live the way we choose.”

“Yeah. I heard the World Bank published data that shows that 35 percent of Mexico’s population lives on less than $5.50 per day.”

“I wouldn’t be thankful to try that, and Mexico is kind of next door. There is only about 2% of the American population that has that little. Which is why all those people want to come to this oppressive heck-hole.” Splash finished his third cup of Joe and looked hopefully at the pot warming on the outer circlet of the Fire Ring.

DeMille rose, looking like he was going to read the Plan of the Day. He fished in the pocket of his quilted vest and produced a folded piece of paper. He put down his now-empty coffee cup and opened the folded sheet with a flourish. “This is new social territory, and there are different standards to be thankful about. For some it may be that this country allows them to spout nonsense without fear of punishment. And despite some supply chain issues, there is plenty of food to eat inside homes that allow most of to live in a way to which only the royalty of old could aspire.”

“I am happy sleeping out by the fence,” said Splash. “And I am thankful you people will allow me to move in to the bunkhouse when it gets good and chilly.”

Melissa had been quiet, but she rose with accustomed grace. “I am thankful that our time in this country was among the best our species has ever had. If the unthankful manage to change things around so that everyone is universally pissed off, I think we will all look back and say this was, literally, the Good Old Days.”

“They should be thankful to be able to say what they want. And I am thankful we can keep them off the property.”

“Could change,” said Splash. “I am happy to teach them how to live on the other side of the fence.” He held up his re-charged tablet that enables his part of the pasture to be fully interconnected to the globe. It held a picture of a group of people waving at a turkey. “It is all part of something in which you have choice. And I am more than happy about that.”

The Salts around the circle nodded. “Thank God.”

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
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