Thursday, November 25, 1948
THANKSGIVING
More than 300 years ago, a band of a few over one hundred pilgrims from the Old Country landed their bark on the wild New England shore. It had taken about nine weeks to sail from Plymouth, England, across the stormy Atlantic Ocean in their small vessel, The Mayflower. They were pressed by persecution to search for a land of religious freedom. The place of their landing was Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts.
They had scarcely landed when the severe winter of New England was upon them and before the following summer half of them had died from hardships, exposure, disease and so forth. Those who were saved were brave and undaunted and happy in their new found freedom. They planted their crops and prepared for the following winter.
In the fall of 1621, after a good harvest, the colonists decided on a period of recreation combined with thanksgiving for their many blessings.
Four hunters were sent out by the governor and they brought in wild game, enough to supply the Colony for almost one week.
This was the original American Thanksgiving. This continued to be an eastern holiday for 200 years. It was based on the Bible that religion came first and that business was a secondary consideration.
We owe a great deal to these noble, sober, uncompromising, God fearing New Englanders, and there is grave danger of shipwreck as a nation and as individuals, if we drift away from the stern teachings upon which this great nation was established…
FIELD NOTES
John Galford brings in for identification a pied bill grebe. Call it hell diver, water witch, dabchick, dipper, didapper and you will still be right. It is at home in the water to a remarkable degree, so water witch is a favorite name. The water witch may nest on the Greenbrier River, but I have yet to see one here, except during the spring and fall migration. Back in black powder, muzzle loading gun, careless shooting days, the water witch would dive at the flash of the discharge and be plenty deep beneath the water to be safe before the shot came scattering over the water. A favorite trick of the water witch to escape observation is to lower its body in the water. At times only the bill and eyes are above water; to remain so, until man or hawk has gone his way.
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My friend, Claiborne Kellison, of Beaver Creek, killed himself a nice big bear in Buckley Mountain last Saturday. He was hunting squirrels and came on the bear at the head of Sunday Lick Run. The sign of this bear has been reported all fall long.
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State Conservation Director McClintic reports most satisfactory conditions as regards fish life in Watoga Lake. This was ascertained by draining down most of the water and then seining the fish. They found the bass in right proportion from fingerlings to four pounders; with sufficient food fishes. All were fat and fine.
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Cousin Meade Waugh, over at Fort Wayne, Indiana, sends in a clipping from the News Sentinel of that city, recently reporting the presence of a great panther –Mountain Lion – at Tippecanoe Lake, Warsaw, Indiana. The sheriff gives his opinion that it is a panther wandered down into the Indiana Settlement from the big woods of northern Michigan. Anyway, Colonel Meade loses no time in reporting back to the old hometown paper, with the invite to Cliff Sharp to water out his fire, call his bear dogs and come on over, while the trail is hot.
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Hevener Dilley brings in one of those controversial “Horse Hair Snakes.” He found it in his fish pond. It looks so much like a long hair from a horse tail, consequently the age old tale about horse hairs turning into worms if placed in water. Look it up in the reference book under phylum gordiacea. In the meantime, I will turn the animal over to Charles Edward McElwee, of the high school faculty, for further report.
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Austin and Oscar Sharp were in town Monday to claim bounty on the 30th bear killed since the first of last April. This bear was killed last Saturday on Tea Creek. They got another on Roaring Run of Elk last week.
BIRTH
Born to Mr. and Mrs. James W. Gary, of Marlinton, a son, named William C. Gary