After my father and I left Cape Cod to head for Boston, we stopped in Plymouth, Massachusetts to pay our respects to the first Yankees. As we approached Plymouth, I started getting rather excited in an unexpected way. I knew that I wanted to see the town, but I was thrilled when we finally arrived. I wondered why. I think that it was because I had learnt of Plymouth in my earliest years. I’m sure that we learnt about the “first Thanksgiving” in Kindergarten, and pop culture (e.g. the Peanuts’ Thanksgiving cartoon) likely helped etch the significance of the town into my mind, as well. So, the joy of finally visiting a place that was one of the first places about which I had learnt anything suddenly sprang forth from my soul.
Plymouth is a charming little town that capitalizes well on its history. It looks like the town did a lot for the three hundredth anniversary of the pilgrims’ landing, and the parks, statues, and sites from the 1920’s appropriately mark Plymouth’s significance. Naturally, we first visited the waterfront and saw Plymouth Rock. Fortunately, a guide was there who explained the history of the rock. I wanted to touch it as a civic relic, but the tricentennial plan placed the rock beyond the reach of hands.
Afterward, we walked along the waterfront and looked at the various monuments to the pilgrims, various persons of note, and the Pilgrim women. The absence of obnoxious, Leftist revisionism was refreshing; for the offensive “Thanksgiving is our national day of mourning” Plimoth Plantation is a few miles away. The organization sadly owns the lovely Mayflower II, which is anchored at the waterfront. We admired the commemorative boat that the English gave us in the 1950’s as a goodwill gesture, but I refused to pay Plimoth Plantation any money to board it. Those ungrateful parasites suck enough of our blood; I am not willingly feeding their propaganda fund.
We left the waterfront and made our way through some lovely gardens on the southeastern end of the historical area. We came to the old center of town where the courthouse and churches stood. The site of the original Puritan house of worship, First Parish Church, became a Unitarian congregation at the turn of the nineteenth century, but the trinitarian members of the town built a trinitarian church right next to it after the change—the Church of the Pilgrimage. The Unitarian building was closed, but the trinitarian church, now part of the United Church of Christ, was open. It was my first time in a United Church of Christ building. It is curious to think of them as the “traditionalist” option in town, but Massachusetts was ground zero for heretics of heretics.
My father and I then visited Burial Hill behind the churches. It was amazingly macabre in a beautiful and peaceful sort of way. We paid our respects to various pilgrims, including William Bradford, before we made our way back into the town. The last thing that we visited in Plymouth was the National Monument to the Forefathers, which looked unfortunately abandoned. I suppose that the Massachusetts government is currently too busy authorizing lesbian weddings and shoveling money at illegal aliens to look after its people’s patrimony. Nonetheless, it was nice to see that Massachusettians from the nineteenth century still valued their heritage.
I really liked Plymouth. If you are ever in Massachusetts, I recommend spending a day at the place where the English Separatists established themselves in America.