Read by Michael Flamel

OOnce upon a time in the picturesque town of Plymouth, Massachusetts, there stood a farm that had been in the Thompson family for over 400 years. The Thompsons were proud descendants of the Mayflower pilgrims, and their farm was a living testament to their enduring legacy.

The farm had seen generations come and go, but it had never left the loving embrace of the Thompson family. From the first humble crops planted by their ancestor, Edward Thompson, to the sprawling acres of produce and livestock that now adorned the property, the Thompsons had always been stewards of the land.

In the heart of the farm was the family homestead, a charming colonial-style farmhouse that had been expanded upon and renovated countless times over the centuries. It had seen its fair share of family gatherings, celebrations, and even a few ghosts, or so the stories went.

The current head of the family, Samuel Thompson, was a grizzled farmer with a penchant for tall tales and an impressive white beard that rivaled Santa Claus’s. He could often be found regaling his children and grandchildren with stories of the farm’s history, often exaggerating for comedic effect.

One sunny morning, as the Thompsons gathered for their annual Mayflower Day celebration, Samuel stood on the porch of the farmhouse, his children and grandchildren seated before him.

“Did I ever tell you the story of Great-Great-Grandpa Zebediah Thompson and the Great Chicken Caper of 1865?” Samuel asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The children leaned in with eager anticipation. “No, Grandpa! Tell us!” they chorused.

“Well,” Samuel began, “Old Zebediah was a character, I tell you. One day, he decided he’d had enough of those pesky chickens getting into the cornfield. So, he hatched a plan to outsmart them.”

The children giggled as Samuel continued, “He stayed up all night crafting tiny chicken-sized shovels and wheelbarrows. When morning came, he convinced the chickens to join his ‘Corn Picking Brigade.’ They marched out to the field, shovels in claw, and started ‘helping’ him pick corn.”

Laughter erupted from the youngsters as they imagined chickens with miniature shovels. Samuel winked and continued, “Well, Zebediah thought he’d won, but those chickens were smarter than he thought. When he turned his back to admire his work, they gobbled up the corn they’d just picked! It was a chicken caper for the ages!”

As the laughter subsided, Samuel concluded, “That’s the thing about this farm, kids. It’s not just about the land; it’s about the stories and the love we share. We’re keepers of a legacy that goes back to the Mayflower, and we’re darn proud of it.”

The Thompsons spent the rest of the day celebrating their rich history with a feast that included corn on the cob (of course), apple pie, and a hearty helping of family love. They marveled at the old family portraits on the walls, with generations of Thompsons staring back at them with wise eyes and warm smiles.

As the sun set on another Mayflower Day, the Thompsons knew that their farm would continue to thrive, generation after generation. With a hearty laugh and a twinkle in his eye, Samuel Thompson leaned back in his chair and said, “Who knows what adventures await the Thompsons of Plymouth Farm next? But one thing’s for sure—it’s going to be one heck of a story!” ❖