The Botanical Origins of Your Thanksgiving Plate: Where Holiday Foods Really Come From
- The Economic Botanist
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
This article is about the botanical food traditions of Thanksgiving.
“Every bite on your Thanksgiving plate comes with a story rooted deep in the soil—botanical history brought alive on your table.” – The Economic Botanist
If you’re someone who loves uncovering the stories behind the foods on your plate, curious about the plants that shaped our holiday traditions, or just want to know where that Thanksgiving feast really comes from, you might wonder: How did corn, pumpkin, cranberries, and even sweet potatoes become the stars of our Thanksgiving dinners?
These foods aren’t just random ingredients — they each have unique botanical histories that stretch back thousands of years. Many were first cultivated by Native American tribes long before Pilgrims arrived, and over time, they adapted to new growing techniques, climates, and cultural traditions to become the beloved staples we enjoy today.
The best part? You don’t need to be a botanist or historian to appreciate these stories or bring a deeper connection to your holiday meals. In this article, we’ll take a look at the botanical origins of your Thanksgiving plate—from native plants and ancient farming methods to how these foods evolved into the dishes we savor each October (in Canada) and November (in the U.S.).
We’ll walk through the fascinating journey of each food, sharing the history and science behind them so you can better understand what’s really on your plate. By the end, you’ll not only impress your family with fun food facts but might even see your Thanksgiving dinner in a whole new light.
Cranberries: From Native Bogs to Your Sauce Dish
Long before cranberry sauce appeared on modern Thanksgiving tables, cranberries played a vital role in Native American life. Indigenous peoples across present-day northern U.S. and southern Canada, including the Wampanoag, Algonquin, Ojibwa, Cree, and others, used cranberries as food, medicine, dye, and trade goods. The berries’ tartness was valued for flavoring dishes and providing essential vitamins during harsh winters. Their natural long shelf life made them ideal for storage and trade, often included in pemmican—a mixture of dried meat, fat, and berries used for sustenance on long journeys. Tribes such as the Narragansett also made traditional dishes like sautauthig, a blend of cranberries and parched corn.
Cranberries held symbolic and diplomatic value, too. They were shared in ceremonies and trade, sometimes gifted to European explorers as a gesture of goodwill, as seen in 1605 when the Abenaki offered cups of berries to Englishman James Rosier. Some sachems, like the Lenni-Lenape chief Pakimitzen—known as "Cranberry Eater"—were even associated with cranberry diplomacy.
Initially too tart for European palates, cranberries were eventually boiled with sugar, which Native peoples began incorporating into their recipes by the late 1600s through trade. Colonists dubbed them “craneberries” for their flower’s resemblance to a crane, and also “bearberries” due to wildlife fondness for them. Sweetened cranberry sauce, as we know it, didn’t emerge until sugar became more available, and it wasn’t until Ocean Spray began canning it in 1941 that it became a holiday staple.
Corn: A Sacred Harvest Staple
Corn, or maize, is another superstar that started in Mexico over 8,000 years ago, domesticated from a wild grass called teosinte. It reached the American Southwest by 4,000 years ago and eastern North America by approximately 200 B.C.
Native tribes used corn, beans, and squash together in an agro-ecological method called the Three Sisters planting system, which nourished the soil and balanced diets. By the time of early Thanksgiving celebrations, corn was used as meal, porridge, and even mush—very different from cornbread and creamed corn we eat today.
Pumpkin: From Ancient Squash to Iconic Pie
Pumpkins and summer squash, both members of the Cucurbita pepo species, have deep roots in the Americas, with pumpkin domestication dating back as far as 7,000 to 5,500 B.C. in what is now Mexico and the southern United States.
Native Americans boiled or roasted these fruits and used them for food, medicine, and storage vessels. Colonists later adopted Indigenous cooking methods but lacked key ingredients like wheat flour and sugar to make pumpkin pies. Instead, they sometimes made early versions of custards baked inside hollowed-out pumpkins. The sweet pumpkin pie we know today only became common in the late 18th century and didn’t become firmly tied to Thanksgiving until the holiday was nationally recognized in the 1800s.
Botanically, Cucurbita pepo is among the most diverse cultivated species in the gourd family, including pumpkins, ornamental gourds, acorn squash, and summer squash. Summer squash, the edible immature fruit of C. pepo, includes six horticultural groups—zucchini, crookneck, straightneck, scallop, cocozelle, and vegetable marrow—each adapted to specific culinary uses and shapes. While the term “pumpkin” typically refers to mature, round fruits, “squash” denotes forms that deviate from roundness and are often eaten immature.
Fun Fact: Did you know the word “pumpkin” likely comes from a Wôpanâak (Massachusett) word meaning “grows forth round”? English settlers adopted “pôhpukun,” which became “pumpkin” |
Summer squash is grown worldwide in temperate and subtropical regions, with global production exceeding 6 million metric tons annually. Though native to North America, it has become especially important in the Mediterranean and Middle East, with countries like Turkey, Italy, and Egypt responsible for a third of global output.
Today, both pumpkin and summer squash remain economically and culturally significant, with pumpkins symbolizing the autumn harvest and Thanksgiving traditions, and summer squash valued for its versatility and global appeal.
Sweet Potatoes: Tropical Roots on a Thanksgiving Plate
Sweet potatoes (Ipomoea batatas) may feel like an autumn classic in North America, but their roots stretch far deeper—both in geography and time. Domesticated at least 5,000 years ago in Central or South America—possibly in what is now Ecuador or the Yucatán Peninsula—sweet potatoes are one of the world’s oldest cultivated crops. Archaeological evidence even dates their use to as early as 8,000 BC!
Despite their place of honor on the Thanksgiving table, sweet potatoes are often misunderstood. They're frequently mislabeled as "yams" in the U.S., especially in the context of holiday dishes. But true yams belong to entirely different plant genus—Dioscorea—native to Africa and Asia, with rougher skin and starchier flesh. What most Americans serve at Thanksgiving is indeed a sweet potato, sometimes bright orange, occasionally purple or white, and always a little sweet.
Their natural sweetness and long storage life helped sweet potatoes earn their place on the fall table in North America—ideal traits for colder months before refrigeration. Sweet potato pie, roasted cubes with herbs, and that infamous marshmallow-topped casserole are all modern riffs on a root that predates the holiday by millennia.
And speaking of marshmallow casserole…Did you know that it first appeared in American cookbooks around 1916–1917, as part of a marketing effort by marshmallow manufacturers? While it’s a deeply nostalgic dish for many, sweet potatoes have evolved well beyond it—now starring in everything from grain bowls and soups to gluten-free baking and even smoothies.
More recently, sweet potatoes have also gained attention for their impressive nutritional profile. They’re rich in complex carbohydrates, fiber, vitamins A (as beta-carotene), C, and E, and essential minerals like potassium and manganese.
Sweet potatoes may have tropical origins, but they’ve adapted beautifully to both colder climates and colder months. With their ancient history, nutritional benefits, and deep cultural relevance, they bring more to the Thanksgiving table than just tradition—they bring nourishment, resilience, and flavor.
Green Beans and the Classic Casserole
Green beans (Phaseolus vulgaris) originated in the Andes and spread globally after Columbus, eventually becoming a staple in Native American agriculture and diets. Indigenous tribes grew them alongside squash and corn, forming the foundation of the “Three Sisters” planting method.
However, the now-iconic green bean casserole (GBC) was born much later—not in Indigenous kitchens, but in a New Jersey test kitchen in 1955. Created by Dorcas Reilly, a home economist at the Campbell Soup Company, the dish was originally developed to promote the use of canned cream of mushroom soup and canned green beans.
What began as a clever marketing recipe quickly took root in American homes, especially in the eastern Midwest, where it became a beloved Thanksgiving tradition and a staple at potlucks and community gatherings. Despite its industrial origins, green bean casserole (GBC) evolved into a meaningful cultural symbol for many Midwestern families. Folklorists argue that tradition isn’t only about ancient customs—it also includes contemporary practices that connect people to their past, place, and community. In this case, GBC reflects the region’s agricultural history, pragmatic food culture, and value placed on reliability, efficiency, and modesty in cooking.
Settled by German immigrants who valued hearty, uncomplicated food and lived in a region marked by swampland and unpredictable weather, residents embraced industrial agriculture and canned foods as symbols of modern control over nature. GBC, with its canned ingredients and dairy-based sauce, fit that ethos. Yet it also allowed room for creativity and personalization: some cooks add fresh mushrooms or spices, while others swap fried onions for crushed potato chips or make vegan versions from scratch.
Despite being mocked in some culinary circles as unsophisticated, green bean casserole endures as a flexible, nostalgic, and deeply rooted food tradition—one that tells a larger story about American identity, regional history, and the evolving nature of what we call “traditional” food.
Herbs & Spices: Aromatic Traditions with Deep Roots
Though the iconic Thanksgiving table is often associated with turkey and stuffing, it's the herbs and spices—those subtle, aromatic touches—that carry deep-rooted cultural and historical meaning. Herbs like sage, rosemary, thyme, and parsley trace their origins to European and Mediterranean culinary traditions. These herbs were brought to the Americas by colonists, who used them to flavor meats, stews, and breads in familiar ways that echoed home.
Over time, these seasonings became staples in holiday cooking. Sage, in particular, gained a special place in North American stuffing recipes by the 1800s. Its warm, earthy flavor pairs naturally with poultry and bread, making it almost synonymous with Thanksgiving dressing. Similarly, thyme and rosemary—with their piney, resinous notes—complement roasted meats and root vegetables, enhancing the hearty, rustic profile of the meal.
While these herbs were not part of the original 1621 harvest meal shared by the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag, they became embedded in Thanksgiving traditions as European culinary practices took hold in colonial kitchens. The adoption of these herbs reflected a growing desire among settlers to recreate familiar tastes from their homelands, even as they adapted to new ingredients and climates.
Beyond flavor, these herbs also carried symbolic meanings. In European folklore, sage was associated with wisdom and longevity, rosemary with remembrance, and thyme with courage and strength—qualities deeply resonant in the context of a holiday meant to reflect gratitude, endurance, and community.
In many ways, the herbs used in Thanksgiving dishes are more than seasoning; they’re a sensory link to the past. Their aromas can evoke memories of family gatherings, echo centuries-old cooking traditions, and speak to the cultural blending that defines the holiday itself.
Bonus Foods: Forgotten Native Plants Deserve a Comeback
While turkey, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie have become synonymous with Thanksgiving, many native foods that likely graced early harvest feasts have all but disappeared from the modern table. Jerusalem artichokes, pawpaw fruit, and wild rice are just a few examples of indigenous plants that were once integral to the diets of Native American communities—and may very well have been present during the 1621 gathering between the Wampanoag and the Pilgrims.
Jerusalem artichokes, also known as sunchokes, are the edible tubers of a sunflower native to North America. With a nutty, slightly sweet flavor and a texture similar to potatoes, they were cultivated and eaten by various Indigenous groups long before European settlers arrived. Despite their adaptability and nutritional value, they’ve largely vanished from mainstream Thanksgiving menus, overshadowed by more familiar root vegetables like potatoes and yams.
Pawpaw fruit, North America's largest native fruit, has a tropical flavor reminiscent of banana, mango, and melon. It once flourished in woodland regions and was commonly foraged by Indigenous peoples and early settlers alike. Yet, because pawpaws are highly perishable and don’t fit neatly into industrial agriculture systems, they’ve become a rarity—known today mostly by foragers and food historians. Including them in seasonal cooking not only reconnects us with forgotten flavors but also with a land-based rhythm of eating that predates modern food systems.
Wild rice, or manoomin, holds deep spiritual and cultural importance to several Native American nations, particularly in the Great Lakes region. Unlike the cultivated “wild rice” found in supermarkets, true wild-harvested manoomin is hand-collected in canoes from lakes and rivers and carries with it centuries of tradition, ceremony, and ecological stewardship. It’s a deeply resilient grain, rich in nutrients and flavor, and was likely a cornerstone of autumn feasts in various Indigenous communities.
These foods were once celebrated for their abundance, adaptability, and deep connection to place, yet they’ve been gradually pushed aside by industrial agriculture and a narrow definition of tradition. Reviving these native ingredients isn’t just a culinary choice—it’s a way to honor the Indigenous roots of the holiday, embrace greater food diversity, and foster more sustainable foodways.
Bringing these plants back to the table not only enriches the Thanksgiving menu, but also encourages a deeper conversation about the original stewards of this land and the rich food knowledge they passed down through generations.
The Bottom Line
You’ve now taken the botanical journey behind Thanksgiving foods—from wild cranberries used by Native Americans to domesticated pumpkin in pies, tropical sweet potatoes, ancient maize, beans, herbs, and even turkey’s plant diet. Understanding these historical and botanical origins gives us deeper appreciation and connection to our holiday traditions.
If you want to craft a more meaningful Thanksgiving, consider trying heritage ingredients—wild rice, pawpaw, Jerusalem artichoke—or support local growers who honor native plant varieties.
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We Gather Together—Consumption Rituals of Thanksgiving Day: This article discusses the collective ritual that celebrates material abundance enacted through feasting and consumption behaviour of U.S. citizens during this popular celebration. Access this article here
The Making of the Domestic Occasion: The History of Thanksgiving in the United States: This paper talks about the emergence and changes in the definition of Thanksgiving in the U.S. as a "domestic occasion." Explore this paper here
The Real Story of Thanksgiving: The article exposes the hidden history behind Thanksgiving, and challenges the traditional narrative, emphasizing the need to teach the full truth about the holiday and its impact on Indigenous people. Read this article here |
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