On Gratitude

A heartfelt thanks to our subscribers and readers.

I’m not sure why, in the United States, Thanksgiving is celebrated at the end of November, given that it originated as a harvest festival in Plymouth, Massachusetts. In Europe, most harvest festivals are celebrated at the time of the harvest—roughly between the end of September and the beginning of November.

For thousands of years in Europe and in other regions of the world, it was a custom to have a festival at the time of the harvest to give thanks to a god or gods for the blessing of a good harvest. A lot of disasters could result in a poor harvest—summer was too cold and cloudy or too hot; too much rain or not enough rain; pest infestations, wildfires, wind and hail damage, and war. Hail damage remains a severe risk for wine producers. I have personally seen vineyards devastated by hail damage. For small wine producers without deep pockets, this is a total disaster. It is therefore easy to understand why, for thousands of years, a good harvest was perceived to be a miraculous blessing.

When I lived in Europe I always enjoyed attending harvest festivals, which are called Erntedankfeste—literally “harvest thanks festivals.” Here in the U.S., we have grown so accustomed to having more than enough to eat—even too much—that we have forgotten how precarious life was for most people in the Northern Hemisphere if, with winter approaching, they didn’t get a good harvest.

Without gratitude—that is, without taking time each day to think about the blessings we do have rather than the things we want—we are susceptible to experiencing a profound spiritual malaise. When we look around, it’s inevitable that we will see people who have more than we do—people who are richer, more successful, better looking, younger, and healthier.

If you ruminate on all they have that you don’t have while failing to think about all the blessings you do have, you will likely be miserable, resentful, and bitter. We all know this, but most of us (myself included) struggle to put this wisdom into daily practice.

I woke up this morning to a beautiful autumn morning here in Dallas. As I do every morning, I carefully read all of the reader comments on my posts from the day before. I cannot reply to each one because doing so would take hours. However, I do read all the comments and I try to learn something from them.

Dr. McCullough and I are deeply grateful to all of our readers—and especially our paid subscribers!—for reading our work. With the ocean of content produced each day, you honor us by choosing to read our work. We cannot thank you enough.

I’ll close with my of my favorite poems by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The summer was great.
Lay your shadows onto the sundials
and let loose the winds upon the fields.

Command the last fruits to be full,
give them yet two more southern days,
urge them to completion, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who now has no house, builds no more.
Who is now alone, will long remain so,
will stay awake, read, write long letters
and will wander restlessly here and there
in the avenues, when the leaves drift.