Beyond Thanksgiving: A Replanted Woman’s Reflection on Land, Ritual, and Belonging

As an immigrant to this country and culture, I didn’t understand what Thanksgiving was—beyond what I saw in movies. The images were charming: adult children returning home, grandchildren playing around the house, laughter circling the dinner table, a turkey at the center, and the comforting rhythm of football games on TV. It looked like a day of family, gratitude, and ritual.

When I first arrived, I learned that when you are invited into someone’s home, you respect their traditions. So, I participated quietly—giving thanks, watching parades, and learning to pronounce cranberry sauce. Years have passed since that first turkey day, and today, I have a family of my own. We too gather around the table, hold hands, and give thanks.

Yet, our way of gratitude has taken on its own meaning. Alongside the turkey and laughter, we honor those who came before us. We light candles to celebrate life, place a bowl of water to acknowledge renewal, and open the back door to feel the wind dancing through the leaves. These small gestures connect me to the Earth that shelters us and to the ancestors who taught me that gratitude is not a single day—it is a relationship.

In Harvest Ceremony: Beyond the Thanksgiving Myth, published by the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian, Indigenous voices remind us that giving thanks was not a new practice brought by the settlers. It was, and continues to be, a daily expression of reciprocity and respect for the land. As the article explains, Native peoples across the Americas have long gathered to honor the cycles of planting, harvest, and renewal—recognizing the Earth as a living relative, not a resource.¹

That understanding changed how I see Thanksgiving. Gratitude is not about a historical event—it’s about a living connection. It invites us to ask: What land am I visiting, and what land is hosting me?

For me, land gratitude means acknowledging that the soil beneath my feet holds stories older than my own. It means seeing the Earth not as a backdrop to human life, but as a teacher and companion in our shared existence. And as a re-planted woman—one who has crossed oceans, languages, and traditions—I find peace in knowing that my essence has not been compromised to fit a fairytale.

Rituals and traditions are the DNA of our communities; storytelling is how legacy survives time and space. To give thanks is to remember that we belong to something greater—something rooted, alive, and ancient.

So, as we enter another season of gratitude, perhaps the question isn’t what we are thankful for, but to whom we offer our thanks.

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• 1 Mourt, George. A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth: Mourt’s Relation. New York: Corinth Books, 1963. 

  
  

Original piece from Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian study guide

Read the full article here.