’Tis the season when we usually brace ourselves for Black Friday stampedes and bravely rally behind the fearless generals of Fox News in the Battle of Christmas. However, with COVID floating merrily through the air and Fox News leading the battle for the Three Banners and Comrade Joe in Red, instead of the Three Wise Men and Mrs. Claus cozy in bed, we have to work even harder at enjoying this festive season in the face of humorless overlords in a nation where not only Fridays, but every single day, is now Black and stampedes are just a walk down any urban street. But, humorless overlords are nothing new to our shores.
This time of year often gives me a chance to reflect on my rich family history. On my father’s side, I am descended from numerous Virginia first families who had the honor of fighting for the Old Dominion in no fewer than four wars. But, it is my Yankee New England maternal ancestors that I am reflecting upon in this dystopian Thanksgiving week. My first maternal ancestors to America arrived at Plymouth Plantation (a term quickly being memory-holed by guilt-ridden modern Yankees) in 1620. There they held the first Thanksgiving feast outdoors with their diverse native neighbors. I am sure it would have warmed the heart of Dr. Fauci to see a celebration in the open outdoor air in the spirit of preventing viruses. Hopefully, they finished the meal before it got too cold and the natives had to borrow some blankets from the Pilgrims.
Pilgrims and Puritans began to stream into New England to begin the work of creating new societies of quality men who would soon be dictating their beliefs to all others, whether they wanted them or not. It was one man, Thomas Morton, whose arrival in Massachusetts in 1624 would evoke a totalitarian reaction against fun and celebration that would be greeted with approval by even the most gender-fluid cat ladies in the library science departments throughout American academia.
In 1627, Thomas Morton brought the maypole to Massachusetts at Wollaston Beach, which he would name Merrymount for reasons that will shortly become obvious. It was over eighty-feet tall with buck horns placed prominently atop it. Anglos and Natives alike danced around the maypole while enjoying intoxicating beverages, plentiful food, and loud singing. This demonstration of fun would not go unnoticed by Governor William Bradford, Captain Miles Standish, and other leaders who were horrified at tales of Pilgrim and Puritan men dancing with native women adorned with luxurious beaver pelts (these were the days before laser hair removal) and native men happily drinking from same kegs of beer and cider as their Pilgrim and Puritan neighbors.
In 1628, Pilgrim Governor William Bradford ordered Captain Miles Standish, who Morton would later refer to as Captain Shrimp in light of his short stature, to proceed to Wollaston and arrest Thomas Morton for, as Bradford described it, “abusing the Indian women most filthily.” Captain Standish reported he was able to arrest Morton and some of his followers without incident due to the fact they were too drunk to resist. After the arrest of Morton, Puritan John Endicott of Salem marched to the shore and chopped Morton’s maypole to the ground.
Morton would not be away from his beloved Massachusetts for long. He would return again only to be captured again by the same humorless suppressors of merriment and shipped back to England. He would arrive again in 1630 only to be shipped back to England once more by Puritan Governor John Winthrop. Still not deterred by the humorless men he would so deftly satirize as the “Princes of Limbo” in his book New Canaan, Morton came once more to Massachusetts in 1643. He was quickly exiled to the coast of Maine where he died in 1647.
In Morton, we see a hardworking man who braved the harshness of New England and sought to enjoy all the pleasures afforded to him. We today see many hardworking middle and working class white men and women who are slowly having every joy and pleasure banned from their lives by sanctimonious elites who see only their punishing ways as permissible and use every tool at their disposal, especially journalists and social media, to enforce their draconian harshness and pave the way for the vegan bug-men of the Great Reset.
I, for one, will follow the determination of both Thomas Morton and my Virginia ancestors who rejected sanctimonious regulation and repression from elites near and far and stood in defense of their way of life. I would ask all proud traditionalists throughout Greater Dixie and all Heritage Americans to join me in rejecting the overwrought feminine hysteria of our elites, many of whose ancestors were still hocking rags in the Pale of Settlement when ours were clearing American fields north and south, and enjoy spending time with friends and family while consuming unhealthy amounts of alcohol, carbohydrate-laden side dishes, delicious roast turkey, and even Yankee cranberry sauce. Thanksgiving is a time to enjoy the gifts and opportunities granted us from a power far greater than ourselves, so let us give thanks and enjoy the blessings of life and to hell with our modern Princes of Limbo.
This piece was originally posted at IdentityDixie.com on 11/26/2020.