In America, we’re about ready for Thanksgiving, our particular riff on the age-old harvest festival. Tomorrow the majority of us will be enjoying some variety of variants of our Thanksgiving dinner. Hopefully, most of us will enjoy our feasts and the company, be it family, friends, or both, that we are surrounded by while doing so.
One thing though – Thanksgiving, despite America’s spin upon it, is still at its heart a harvest celebration. Hence, I believe that we should spare a moment or more to consider our Thanksgiving dinner’s origin. And by that I do not mean the well-known legendry of Thanksgiving or the murkier and more complex history thereof; No, I mean the origins of the delicious food upon our tables.
Spare some time this Thanksgiving to think about and be grateful for the efforts of all those “rural folk” – the farmers, ranchers, and such along with the men and women who get those crops from the farms across the land to the stores you buy it at.
Yeah, it would be good and very likely pleasant to pause and consider the farm workers and such in those so easily dismissible fly-over districts, counties, and states. Instead of repeating the urbanites’ and suburanites’ mistake of considering the America’s rural population as forgettable but unforgivable, deplorable, uneducated hicks and rubes, consider that there’s a reason why they make up the heartland of America.