Feel the Warmth

ven in the midst of financial hardships, Americans possess a cornucopia of blessings to count today. Among them is protection from the weather. Yes, this might be your most worrisome Thanksgiving from a financial standpoint. But chances are, it won’t be remembered as your coldest or wettest Thanksgiving ever. Surviving the elements of nature is not our greatest challenge.

But our blessing of sanctuary from Mother Nature’s fiercest attacks was not always enjoyed in these parts, as two of Clark County’s most popular tourists might attest. If they could. They’ve been gone for more than two centuries. But when we learn about the physical hardships that Lewis and Clark faced in the two Thanksgivings of their expedition, that rec-room recliner becomes a little softer, the subtle “On” click of the thermostat becomes a little more reassuring and the halftime nap becomes a little deeper.

Today, give thanks.

There was no Thanksgiving, officially, in 1805. If there had been, it could’ve been one of the latest — Nov. 28 — according to President Abraham Lincoln, who declared the last Thursday in November as the official holiday. Or it could’ve been one of the earliest — Nov. 21 — according to President Franklin Roosevelt, who declared the fourth Thursday in November as the official holiday, so as to maximize the holiday shopping period.

Regardless, that week was one giant Vacation Gone Bad for Meriwether Lewis, William Clark and their subordinates. Three weeks earlier, they had spent Nov. 4-5 in today’s Clark County. But later, the cruel combo of late November and coastal lowlands brought only misery. “O! how disagreeable is our Situation dureing this dreadful weather,” Clark wrote on Nov. 28. They all were slogging around and through the rain, wind, fog and mud of the Columbia River estuary. They didn’t name one place Dismal Nitch for nothing.

Today, give thanks.

Four days after Clark’s mournful journal entry, they’d had enough soggy sightseeing. It was time to find a place to build a fort and hunker down for their first Pacific Northwest winter. One historic moment — Americans’ first recorded election in the West — occurred on Nov. 24, 1805, when they voted on a site for the fort. Sacagawea voted 115 years before the 19th Amendment gave women the right to do so. York, Clark’s slave, voted more than a half-century before the Emancipation Proclamation. The consensus was to winter in Oregon, near today’s Astoria. A week later they began building Fort Clatsop. On Christmas Eve the structure was completed. There, for almost four months, rain fell on the chinked-log fort every day except six. And not a TV remote control in sight.

Today, give thanks.

At least they were indoors. And their time was spent wisely, drawing maps of their journey, making journal entries about plants and animals and preparing for their homeward march that began on March 23, 1805.

For all of them, that Thanksgiving must have been their wettest one ever. And one year earlier, Thanksgiving 1804, likely was their coldest one ever. November 1804 was spent in another fort, with the Mandan Indians on the banks of the Missouri River in the middle of North Dakota. (Last week, overnight lows in Bismarck were in the teens).

Today, give thanks.

As at Fort Clatsop, time at Fort Mandan also was spent wisely, interviewing Indians about lands to the west, transcribing notes for the trip, learning how to turn cottonwoods into canoes.

Modern Americans might see these two Novembers of long ago as filled with abject despair. Back then, they didn’t know any better. Hardships of winter simply came with the territory … literally. Today, we know better.

Today, give thanks.