The First Turkey: A Thanksgiving Story

The First Turkey: A Thanksgiving Story

The year is 1621, and danger lurks within the forest outside of the Plymouth colony. A monster, one so greatly treacherous none who have seen it has lived to tell the tale. But we find three young men amidst this very forest, and unknowing of the evil that awaits them.
“Tell me again why we decided to walk this far into the forest?” Michael asks, looking to his left at Lucas and James, “I really don’t even know which way home is now.”
“Our people have trusted us to find the main dish for the first Thanksgiving feast,” Lucas answers. “And what better place to find it than here?”
“Quiet, did you guys here that?” James interrupts, putting his right ear in front of him.
Just as James speaks, the monster leaps from the darkness, its wings spread wide and its beak stretching in front of it. The beast lands upon him, its fierceness and might throwing James twenty feet behind where he stood. Lucas and Michael charge towards him as the monster leaps from his body toward the other two men. James lies on the ground, petrified by the monster that nearly killed him. Michael and Lucas dodge the beast, and lift James from the ground, sprinting back the way they came. The beast’s footsteps grow louder as they run for their lives, James still struggling to keep up with them.
Just as they think that they have been outmatched, defeated by the beast of the forest, the thunderous sound of his footsteps fade and the three come to a stop just outside the entrance of the forest. They hunch over, hands on their knees, trying to recover their normal breathing.
“What on Earth was that?” James croaks, still shaking in fear from his personal encounter with the beast.
“I don’t know,” Michael answers, looking deep into the darkness of the forest before them, “Whatever it was, we need to warn our people of the danger that lurks in there.”
The three run back to Plymouth, greeted by those expecting food for their upcoming feast, but finding three young men with empty arms, and tattered clothes.
“What happened to you?” a woman from the village asks, running to them in haste. “You’ve the look of men who have seen a ghost.”
“We were attacked by some beast in the forest,” Lucas answers, pointing to James, who still looks frightened. “James was nearly killed, and we dropped our weapons during our escape.”
“Warn the town, and send anyone willing to fight with us,” James says to the woman. “We will not let anything bring danger to our great colony.”
The woman nods, and runs from them, collecting all those who are willing to fight, and warning others about the beast foretold by the three men. Hours pass, and fifty men stand alongside James, Michael, and Lucas on the edge of the forest, waiting for the wretched beast to reveal itself to its soon demise. In an instant, the beast roars from within the forest, and slow, powerful footsteps shake the ground around Plymouth. Finally, it reveals itself, throwing aside the trees at the mouth of the forest; a thirty foot turkey, stares into the crowd of awaiting men.
It steps from the forest, sending most of the men running with fear back into town. It roars once more, leaning its head down before the three young men it met in the forest earlier in the day. Its eye stares deep into the eyes of James, before its pupil shrinks to a pinpoint, and the massive beast falls to the ground with an explosive impact. Dave, the town’s sharpest huntsman, had struck the massive bird’s heart with an arrow.
“Dave, you beautiful fool!” Lucas yells to him, bowing down to his side. “You have saved everyone in this great colony!”
“I’m more excited about the feast we’ll make from this great beast,” Dave adds, running to the fallen turkey’s side and retrieving his arrow, “Let’s cook her up, shall we?”

And so it was, on that fateful day in 1621, that the turkey was declared the main dish of Thanksgiving. They feasted in harmony with the natives, and their colony would live to create the great nation we live in today. All because of the bravery and hunger of one Dave Stryffeler, who would have a monument made in his honor in Plymouth square, holding the head of the mighty beast he had defeated. Thus began our celebration of Thanksgiving.