Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

November in Maine. Those gray skies, bare trees and golden leaves on the ground make for one of the most starkly beautiful landscapes I know of.

November is a vibe. A slightly solemn one to be sure, but with side notes of joy, gatherings and last hurrahs. It is no wonder this is the time of year that President Abraham Lincoln chose to place the official Thanksgiving holiday back in 1863.

Thanksgiving. It’s complicated, right? When I was a kid, it was my absolute favorite holiday. Mainly because all my favorite people were together and there was pie, but with none of the stress of presents and such.

Plus, I loved – I mean absolutely loved – the story. The whole first Thanksgiving thing. You know, pilgrims and the Wampanoag people all sitting down together… and that’s where you can insert the sound of a record needle scratching across and everything coming to a halt.

Because that myth was always just that: a myth.

As I grew up, history replaced the story. I learned the real story of colonization. I learned about the illegal taking of land, the promises and treaties my ancestors made – and broke, and then made and broke again.

Knowing all that changed the holiday for me. Then I decided to change it again.

I let the myth go. I’ve never had much use for lies. Smoke and mirrors and misdirection annoy me. I prefer honesty, even when it is unpleasant.

Burning the books won’t erase the reality, it just compounds the wound. Face what is true and make peace with it, say I.

However, while I have let go of the myth, I’ve doubled down on the act of being thankful. I think, to some, it is impossible to disentangle the two, and that rejecting the lie means taking apart the whole shebang, but I would argue that giving thanks is made even more essential in the absence of the comfy lie.

In fact, I would even say that in the face of uncomfortable historical truths that form our collective present  – and possibly even more uncomfortable future events coming our way – the act of being genuinely thankful is a declaration.

So let’s do it. I’ll go first.

I am thankful for this place I get to call home; for the clean air and the wild ocean. I am thankful for the warm house and safe space to sleep, for drinkable water from the tap and fresh food in the fridge.

I am thankful for the freedom to speak and worship, or not, as I see fit.

I am thankful for the distance we have come as a nation, and thankful for the neighbors who are so determined to keep bending the arc of history toward justice, even though it feels like it might be cracking.

I am thankful for the love of my friends and family, for board games and laughing and pie. I am thankful for dogs who sleep with their head in my lap, snoring away in contentment and safety.

I am thankful for the people who, despite the lure of one more hour’s sleep, get up and go to work: teaching kids, cleaning streets, keeping the lights on, caring for the sick, collecting the trash, making the coffee, driving the bus – all the jobs that keep our days running.

I am thankful for the way that pumpkin pie, made with an actual pumpkin you roasted and cooked yourself, tastes when paired with fresh whipped cream, and for all the farmers who make it possible.

I am thankful for the journalists who, despite the pressures, the threats, the humiliations and the storm we all see coming, are out there collecting facts, making sense and setting things in the record.

I am aware that most of my list is under threat. That only serves to make me appreciate them more.

I am thankful for this life, and I wish the same for all of you. Every single one.