Gratitude’s Footfalls
A Story Written for Multi-generational Worship
November 24, 2019
Unitarian Society of New Haven
By Jesse Greist

Jesse: The fourth week of November was a roller coaster of emotions for the Wattimore family. College-bound siblings, retirement bound grandparents, career bound aunts, uncles, cousins and their outward bound children drove, flew and even bicycled from all over the country (as far away as Wisconsin) to Hamden, CT for a massive reunion every year. However, they did not come together in honor of Pilgrim and Native American relations. They came because it was a time they all had off, and it was part of their family heritage to honor the harvest season with a feast. More than that, like so many around the country, there’s a newer meaning to Thanksgiving as a time for families to be deeply together in our ever more over-connected world.
On Monday and Tuesday of that week Wattimore family members began to trickle in, and by Wednesday evening, there was a flood of guests stronger and mightier than the Connecticut river itself. They slept on couches, they slept on floors, they slept on oh so comfy pull out beds, and some even slept in tents in the brisk fresh November air.
While each year was different, two things always remained the same every time the Wattimores got together: A huge Thursday night dinner at which everyone (and I mean everyone) had a seat around one big, long table, and the annual trek along every marked trail on the Sleeping Giant, or as the Wattimore family called it: The Hallowed Hobbomock Hike.
John: Yes, everyone from babies in backpack carriers to urban cousins with their latest Forever 21 attire, to grandparents with hand carved walking sticks would step off their busy and divergent life paths for just one day and onto the red circle trail, care free, device free, and fancy free.
This year was no different. After a morning of table setting and pumpkin seed roasting, exactly thirty-three Wattimores from 2 months to 92 years old made their way into the woods and briefly left honking cars, high pressure school exams and job quotas behind, their feet falling into the rhythm of their ancestors. Barely a twig snapped, and barely a leaf crunched as they stepped in reverent silence. At first, they all found themselves looking down. Brown leaves, acorns, hickory and chestnut seeds, pine cones and discarded shells left by squirrels. Here and there an energy bar wrapper or plastic water bottle. These were quietly collected and pocketed by young and old alike with little more than a tutting admonition of those that had left such large footprints on this sacred land.
Jesse: As the walk continued, everyone in the family began to look upward and outward, relaxing into their surroundings. A barred owl watched from above. Mid day sunbeams filtered through the intertwined branches of Red Oaks and maples, Black Birches, Smooth Grey Beeches, Eastern White Pine, and twisted laurels. As the family made their way along, they whispered and sang to the Great Trees around them, and listened as the trees whispered and sang along.

Song: Great Trees

Part II

John: The Wattimore family moved onward and upward, pointing out deer and racoon tracks, marveling at colorful fungi, mica and quartz stones the size of basketballs and every now and then imagining that the clouds above were gathering themselves into familiar forms just for them. After a while they came to a high point on the Sleeping Giant’s chest, empty of trees. There was a steep cliff before them, diving down towards Quinnipiac University, with a spectacular view of the entire Mill River Valley. The family stopped for water and snacks and to enjoy the view. Two of the Wattimore children ran up to their grandmother to show her something they’d found just off the trail. It was a spearhead, made from grey stone, and an arrowhead, fashioned from white stone. “Look what we’ve found, grandma” they said, their faces aglow. “Can we add this to the family collection?

Jesse: Grandmother looked them over and nodded approvingly. “I believe the people who made these would be honored by us keeping them safe” she replied.

John: But this got the children thinking. They remembered the story their grandparents told each year on this day after dinner. It was the story of Hobbomock, the stone giant, for whom the mountain they stood upon was named. One of the girls asked her grandmother if it would be ok for the story to get told now, here on the mountain instead of after dinner, even though it would break family tradition. The other children immediately joined in, begging for the story now and not later.

Jesse: “Well”, said Grandmother, “I guess we should not be afraid of some change now and then… Sure why not?”
So she began to tell the story of Hobbomock.
Back before the time of written stories, when people still spoke the language of the trees and the animals, there lived a stone giant named Hobbomock. Hobbomock was not exactly friends with the Quinnipiac people, who lived in what is now Hamden, New Haven, North Haven and Cheshire, but he did get along with them and shared respect with them because they lived in harmony with the world around them. There was plenty of food for everyone (Hobbomock was a big fan of fresh Oysters from the pristine New Haven shoreline) and no one complained about their house being too small or not getting enough presents at holiday time.
For years and years, Hobbomock watched over the forest and all living things in it, and smiled at the way everyone stayed on their thread of life’s interconnected web.
But, there came a time when people began to change. Bit by bit, they forgot the language of the trees. Then they forgot the language of birds. Soon they even forgot the language of insects and other animals too. They began to live apart, and this upset Hobbomock to no end. Hobbomock decided that humans had gotten out of hand and needed to be punished. Being a giant, he only knew one way to punish them. He would stomp their villages into dust! So Hobbomock lifted himself up from where he had sat for so long (which is probably somewhere near what we call Middletown today) and began to stomp his way towards the Quinnipiac villages. As he walked, his footfalls were so huge and heavy, he began to change the land below. He stepped into the Connecticut river and made it turn suddenly East, which it still does even today.

John: What Hobbomock didn’t know, was that a young boy named Blackbird had been watching him and ran quickly to tell everyone that trouble was coming. They had very little time to come up with a plan to save themselves and needed to think quickly. One of the elders was familiar with Hobbomock’s “M.O.” and knew that he would stop for a snack before squashing them, since Hobbomock never rampages on an empty stomach, and so they had a little time on their hands. Everyone came together and prayed to the great spirit for forgiveness and help. As it turned out, the great spirit heard them and came to them. The spirit told them that Hobbomock was angry because they had stopped living in harmony with nature. They needed to change their ways, but perhaps squashing them was not quite the way to make them change. As a compromise, the spirit gave them a magic spell that would make Hobbomock go to sleep, giving them time to change. The elders took that sleeping spell and sprinkled it over the oysters in the Harbor, and when Hobbomock arrived and feasted on those oysters, he almost immediately grew very, very tired, and lay down just north of what we now call Mt. Carmel Avenue, and fell fast asleep. He remains sleeping today, and we are currently sitting right on Hobbomock’s shoulder” Said Grandmother.
Jesse: Wow, talk about standing on the shoulders of giants, said one of the Wattimore dads. Thus, The story concluded, the family fell into reflective, meditative silence, and walked on, thinking about the story they’d heard and wondering as they wandered about right and wrong, good and bad, harmony and disruption. They eventually finished their hike and went home to share a meal full of thankfulness and gratitude, joy and concern.

Part III

John: Just after sundown on November 28th, 2019, thirty-three members of the extended Wattimore family, some of whom had come from as far away as Wisconsin to walk with their ancestors, crowded around an impossibly long banquet table and gave the food that lay before them a blessing. There was baked acorn squash, roasted pumpkin seeds, fruit salad, potatoes, beans, lobster, some venison that a couple of the cousins had taken on a farm out on Ridge Rd, and of course, there were plenty of oysters on wide trays up and down the length of the table.
Jesse: They dug in, and for a short time, there was little conversation – just a lot of satisfied sighs and comments like “Oh, this is delicious! “ and “you have to give me the recipe for this”. After a time, an elder noticed that one of the younger daughters had barely touched her plate. He looked closer and saw that she was turning a shard of pottery, found earlier that day on the Sleeping Giant, over and over in her hands.
John: “You seem troubled” said the elder. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
Jesse: “I was just thinking about Hobbomock and how he got along with the people for so long, but then got so angry with them when they stopped living in harmony with the world around them. When they forgot how to speak with the birds, trees and animals.
John: “Yes, it’s a powerful lesson, and a story I’m glad that we still tell”
Jesse: “Grandfather, I’m worried. I don’t know how to speak to birds and trees and animals. Do you?”
John: “I’m afraid I never learned. I can’t even remember if anyone tried to teach me.”
Jesse: “Well, what if Hobbomock wakes up and tries to punish us again for being like the ancestors in the story?”
John: The table grew quiet and for a minute no one talked. Then one of the Wattimore cousins spoke up. I’d like to thank you for that important observation. Many of us are worried these days that now more than ever, people are out of harmony with the world around us. We hear news and stories that all seem to show that we’ve all forgotten the language of the animals and trees, that we’ve all lost touch with our Mother Earth. There are bigger Hobbomocks around us, just starting to wake up. But I don’t think it’s too late. Yes, we’ll need more than enchanted oysters to put Hobbomock to sleep this time, but I think that we can make things better.
Jesse: How? Asked the small sister
John: Well, just as there are stories about how we are making things worse, there are lots of people out there that listen to the voices of the ancestors, who are using technology to hear the call of nature, and interpret the messages she’s sending us. If we, everyone around this table and beyond, listen, and learn, and listen some more, I think we will be able to hear, and by acting on what we hear, we can keep Hobbomock peacefully asleep beneath the hills.
Anthem: Breaths – Ysaye Barnwell

Part IV

Jesse: The holiday passed, and the Wattimores once again took to the wind and dispersed to the homes they’d built for themselves. They went back to school, jobs, retirement, volunteer work and a thousand other routines. But new memories were now a part of them. They had fresh, non-social media images to cherish and recall in living color. They had recipes for delicious oysters, and recipes for peaceful, harmonious lives. Some of them had carefully wrapped up gifts of arrowheads and pottery from generations past. They all had the story of Hobbomock fresh in their minds. A story of the past, and a story of the present. A reminder to be their best selves, and to never forget the language that holds the web of life together, thread by thread. And so, in this, our time of thanksgiving, let us all remember. Let us be thankful for what we have, and for the world that has given it to us. May we sing the Giants that loom before us to sleep and keep them in slumber through our actions, through our unity, through the dreams we bring to life every day.