A Christmas Memory

I was told this story by an engineer who I worked for many years. He was the third of five siblings and seven years old when these events occurred.

The family farmed on an island in the San Juans. At some point, the parents opted out of living and working in the big city and turned to farming and raising livestock. They liquidated all holdings on the mainland and purchased the farm where their children learned to milk cows, feed and care for pigs and horses, muck out stalls, gather eggs, along with a myriad of other duties required around a functioning farm.

Although there was a school in the town on the island, several of the families of the community home-schooled their children and grandchildren long before it was vogue. School was held between chores shifts, six days a week. Other than planting and harvest times, there were few breaks from that school schedule.

In the late fall, the farming families of the island gathered to celebrate Thanksgiving much as the citizens must have early in the life of our country. Each family contributed from their recent harvests and enjoyed a day of fellowship and, to the delight of the children, no school.

The next morning, the families were back to the normal routines. Weeks went by and one day the parents announced that they would travel to the mainland the next day and return that night. Clear instructions were left for the children and they were expected to follow those instructions to the letter, which they did. Nonsense and mischief were not options to people whose existence depended upon self-discipline and hard work, and the children knew that.

The family had income from sources such as sales of livestock and open market fresh and canned produce. The needs of the family were mostly provided through the farm. They carried no debt. The women of the community spent their free time creating items to sell at the bazaars and stores in town, which were flooded with tourists during the summer and early, fall months. The income was adequate for the family needs. Life was simple.

A day or two after the parents returned from their jaunt to the mainland, the children were told that they would suspend school that day and instead clean the house until it shined. Only twice a year did it happen that the children and parents together scrubbed and polished every surface, and when they finished the home gleamed.

That night they were pretty sure that something big was about to happen. The five children slept in two bedrooms. They had a hard time getting to sleep that night for they listened with all their might for the sound of reindeer. They anticipated a visit from Santa.

The next morning when they awoke, they crept to their bedroom doors and opened them as quietly as excited children can, and amidst giggles and whispers they eagerly sought a glimpse of what might be hanging from hooks on the doors. They were not disappointed. Awaiting them were bulging Christmas stockings, hand made by their mother in the first year of each child’s life and personalized with that child’s name. Each carefully disengaged his or her stocking from its hook and, squealing with delight, carried it back into the bedroom to inspect its treasures. They knew not to go to the downstairs until they were summoned.

A while later they heard their parents rustling around and their excitement grew. They listened hard until their dad called for them, and then the bedroom doors flew open and five pajama-clad children thundered down the stairway, faces flushed with excitement.

There before them was a most thrilling sight: a fully decorated Christmas tree aglow with colored lights, sparkling with glass balls, and glistening with tinsel, glorious in its splendor. It hadn’t been there when they went to bed the night before, and they were sure Santa had brought it to them. Under it were an impressive number of wrapped gifts. A plate with a partially eaten cookie sat on a table alongside a glass with milk residue, and outside the window were reindeer tracks. There was no mystery about it. Christmas Day had arrived.

The children opened their gifts, and enjoyed a festive breakfast. Chores didn’t seem so challenging that day, and they knew that later they would have a wonderful dinner.

The magic lasted for several days while they played with their toys and enjoyed a sabbatical from school. Their celebration started a couple of days after December 25. Their parents went to the mainland on the day following Christmas to shop for the gifts at discounts. They could not afford to pay full prices for gifts. The children were clueless that they were celebrating Christmas a few days later than those in town and on the mainland. They were somewhat isolated during the winter on their farm, and had no television and very little radio reception.

A few years later, the father was struck with disease and the family sold the farm and moved to an area North of Seattle. The man who described that Christmas to me said that he was filled with nostalgia for the simplicity and innocence of life on that farm, especially when he indulged himself in Christmas reminiscences. He claimed that he could still conjure the delight and excitement of those magical childhood moments.

May the enchantment of this sacred season envelop your home and family this Christmas. Merry Christmas and the blessings of the baby Jesus to you and to yours.