I wrote the following in 2003.
I would have made the sorriest excuse for a Pilgrim. I came to this
conclusion on a cold November day several years ago as I wielded an ax trying
to chop a rotten tree limb. I hacked away, flinging splinters everywhere, as
the deadwood flopped about like a fish out of water. Our trained and fearless
German Shepherd dog fled in terror from my butchering of the branch. And yet
after all my sweat and effort, all that was left was a pulpy mess.
That’s when it struck me: I would
have made the sorriest excuse for a Pilgrim. I stood there wondering, “How did
they do it?” With nothing but primitive tools, how did those Pilgrims fell
full-grown trees and split them into logs in order to survive that first
winter? I couldn’t chop a single piece of rotten wood. How would I have
possibly managed hardwood trees?
I have a particular interest in the
subject ever since I learned from my family’s genealogy that my ancestor, Moses Simmons, had arrived in Plymouth, MA, on November 9, 1621. He was 16 years old. I looked at that
miserable mess of wood I had made that day and thought of Moses. I felt certain
that had my ancestors’ survival depended upon me instead of Moses, we would
have surely perished.
We live in a flood plain, and since
1993 our basement has been flooded by runoff water many times. In January of
1996, and again in November, we had to evacuate to the Comfort Inn because the
road we live on flooded. Water would spring up through fissures in the cement
of the basement floor and level off at some point, usually between two and
three feet. We would be without heat and hot water for several days. Even after
the water receded, I would have to trek to the laundromat for at least another
week while my washer and dryer dried out.
As dispiriting as a basement full of
water can be, it is more of an inconvenience than a hardship. I am humbled by
the thought of the genuine adversity that faced those first colonists. I
bemoaned the fact that we had to evacuate to a motel with heat, hot showers and
cable TV. Yet 382 years ago this month Moses Simmons arrived at Plymouth and
was greeted with nothing more than the prospect of a long, harsh winter ahead.
No Red Cross. No Comfort Inn. No Black and Decker power tools. Not a single
State Farm insurance agent in sight.
I readily admit I’m a wuss, a
spoiled product of our times. I wouldn’t trade my computer for an inkwell and a
quill. Nor would I ever relinquish the advances in modern medicine. And I’ll be
eternally grateful to whoever invented the treadmill, although I’m certain
Moses Simmons would be flummoxed by its logic.
Approximately 50 percent of the
Pilgrims died that first winter in 1620. Considering the unfathomable odds they
faced, a 50 percent survival rate is a testament to their ability and
fortitude. Moses Simmons not only survived his first winter in 1621, he lived
for another 68-70 years, which is why every Thanksgiving I bow my head and
thank God it was Moses who lived back then and not I.
***
