There are five grandchildren in our family camp, four lovely does and one young buck, a 12-year old. Recently, one of the does, Alexandra, an 8-year old with a quick-release mind, was smack in the middle of a Thanksgiving Day school project.

Since Alex suspects I might have been part of the reception committee when the pilgrims first touched American soil in 1621, I responded to her request for information with the following letter:

Dear Alex:

“For the first Thanksgiving in 1621, four pilgrims were sent fowling for wild birds. In those days, they were hunting for table food. In one day of hunting they bagged enough to feed the Plymouth pilgrim colony for a week. Then, after three days of feasting with the colonists to celebrate their harvest, a band of Indians under Chief Massasoit, went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and presented to the governor of Massachusetts and a ship’s captain.

“The story of that first Thanksgiving was ordered by Gov. William Bradford, Alex, so that the settlers could rejoice together after the pilgrims had gathered the fruit of their labors. Research indicates that the details of the celebration were recounted in a letter written by one of the Mayflower pilgrims to a friend back in England. The pilgrim who wrote the letter was a man named Edward Winslow.

“Winslow had to be an outstanding individual, because later he became governor of the colony.

“The land and sea in those days had to be rich in natural resources. History has it that the pilgrims harvested 20 acres of Indian corn, six acres of barley and peas, white and red grapes, strawberries, gooseberries, plums of all sorts.

“Offshore, the huge bay was full of lobsters and other fish. The lobsters, I know, will interest you. I’ve watched you tear into a 2-pounder, leaving behind a trail of lobster shells.

“I know your interest in books, so I am on the prowl to get you an edition of one commemorated on how man and wildlife enjoy the changing seasons. I happen to like this particular book because it’s in four sections – spring, summer, autumn and winter. There are stories, paintings, photographs, poems and recipes, how man, woman and kids like you enjoy wildlife and the changing seasons. Artists included in the anthology, a book titled `Wildlife’s Holiday Album,’ include Thomas Hart Benton, N.C. Wyeth, and Grandma Moses with contributions by authors Mark Twain, Rachel Carson, Robert Frost and J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote letters from `Father Christmas’ for his children.

“They explain the mysteries of wildlife migration and hibernation in their seasonal activities: fireflies lighting up a summer night; a new born baby deer cautiously greeting late spring; migrating geese as we often see them here in Maine, winging over the Penobscot river in spring and fall, a snowy owl poised upon a snowdrift, waiting to attack an unway bird or mouse.

“You know, I am certain, I could not write you without making mention of fishing. You’re a new-born angler, having accompanied your dad several times off-shore in San Diego. Like you have never read what our 31st president, Herbert Hoover, wrote about fishing: `It’s one of the few opportunities given a president for the refreshment of his soul and the clarification of his thoughts by solitude.’ ”

“Well, Alex, I have taken you around the horn, so to speak – the pilgrims celebrating the first Thanksgiving, a three-day feast on fowl, all the way to the joy and splendor of today’s environment.

“You and your sister, Abigail, likely will go out stalking the markets in search of the perfect turkey. You two will find turkeys in plastic bags and some of the trimmings in cans. It wasn’t always that way, of course. Your school project of focusing in on the pilgrims of 1621 is a good one and I know you will turn in an excellent report.

“I’ll be observing Thanksgiving in the company of your three Maine cousins, Ainsley, Anna and Trevor. Ours, too, will be one of those store-boughten birds and not one of those gathered some three centuries past.

“The happiest of holidays to you kids, and the same for the nicest family in all of Maine, the subscribers of this newspaper.

“P.S. Alex, another note. This afternoon I watched a bald eagle. What a spectacular sight. It looked for all the world like some feathered aristocrat, haughty, arrogant and yet powerful with its curved beak and mighty talons. It seemed aloof until suddenly an airplane roared across the sky, and at this point that mighty bird cocked its head sideways looking up at this man-made thing that was usurping the eagle’s domain, rushing so noisily through the sapphire sea above Bangor. Next summer, Alex, we must plan on going on an eagle watch. Once more, the good blessings of another Thanksgiving.”