When I was a kid, we celebrated Christmas Eve with Dad’s family, at home in Marion, Michigan. It was a grand time for the Berry cousins. We had each other, our aunts, uncles and Grandma. It was quite a houseful. Each year, wrapping paper covered the floor, laughter and joy abounded, and everyone there was a kid for a while, regardless of age. There was truly joy in the air.
On Christmas morning mom, dad and I got in the car drove the fifty-seven miles south to my mother’s parents. We spent the day on the farm three miles south of Beal City with my grandparents, uncle and aunt. We enjoyed of my grandmother’s wonderful turkey dinners, gathered around the enormous round table in the dining room. This was Christmas.
For the Christmas of 1956, we switched things up and went to the farm early on Christmas Eve. I was excited to go, but concerned that Santa might not find me so far away from my own home. I was hoping for a bride doll that year, she being the doll at the top of the list for many six year old girls. I didn’t want to miss her. I was assured that Santa would know where I slept. We climbed into our Chevy and off we went.
We arrived at the farm in the gathering dusk of late afternoon, the landscape all snowy, cold, and glittery in the sunset. We were greeted at the kitchen door with calls of “Merry Christmas” and “You’re here at last!”
Wonderful smells surrounded us in the toasty kitchen. My grandmother used a wood fueled cook stove and there were always wonderful smells. On this night the aroma of bread fresh from the oven was particularly warm and welcoming. The next day we would enjoy the aroma of roasting turkey and all the fixings until it was time to eat.
I made a beeline for the front room to see the tree I’d glimpsed as we pulled in the drive. There it was, dressed in a thin layer of heavy tinsel, old ornaments, some of them paper, was the Christmas tree. She was both beautiful and fragrant. At the end of her boughs were clamped tin holders holding small white candles. It was very magical.
Grandma explained that they had been undecided about a tree. For the past few years, they had done very small trees, or just boughs in a large vase. Tinsel and ornaments would hang on anything. Then, earlier in the week, Grandpa took his axe and went to the woods where he cut trees as a boy, and cut this cedar tree. They decorated it as it would have been when they, and later mom and her brother, were children. There was no electricity on the farm until 1936. Both of my parents had candle memories.
I expected to soon be enjoying the glow of the tree with my family and to find out what was in the packages beneath. But, this was the farm and chores always came first, even before dinner and Christmas. There were chickens, pigs, sheep, cows and calves to feed and water; and cows to milk and the milk to deal with. It felt like it all took hours.
Grandpa and Uncle Bill hand milked between 10 and 12 cows twice daily. They carried the three gallon stainless milk pails from the barn to the kitchen where the milk was strained, and run through the cream separator. Cream was sold to the Remus Creamery where it became butter. The skimmed milk went to the pigs.
On this happy Christmas Eve on the farm, time seemed to stop for 6 year old me. Darkness had fallen. It was night. Whenever did the festivities begin? Did no one here understand what evening this was? I must have asked grandma and mom for the time every ten minutes, which seemed to me an hour. I was repeatedly reminded that patience was a good thing.
And then Grandpa and Uncle Bill were at the door, milk pails in hand. In a way this last part of the chores was a treat. I was always fascinated by the cream separator, a heavy machine that ran on electricity or muscle power. I found it great fun to push the crank and make the machine whirr and cream and skimmed milk pour into their respective containers. On that night it was a welcome diversion.
Supper done at last, we adjourned to the Christmas tree. Grandma and grandpa told us all to sit down and turned out the lights. They lit each of the tiny candles on the tree, making a glow no electric lights can give. We were all delighted. Me with this magical thing I had never seen before (or since) and the others with memories of childhood trees and Christmases past. Grandpa’s lovely cedar tree was indeed magical.
All too soon the candles burned low and grandma put them out. Grandpa stood by with a pail of water and both warned of the dangers of candles and trees. It was present time at long last.
I remember only two of the gifts I received that Christmas. One was the doll I unwrapped under that lovely old fashioned tree. She was not a bride doll by any stretch of the imagination. I was quite disappointed. That doll held no magic for me whatsoever. I never gave her a name. I did, however, give her a most unkind haircut within six months and to this day I do not know what happened to her. I got a lovely bride doll for my next birthday. She resides with two other dolls, deep in the bottom of my Keep chest, still dressed in her wonderful dress and looking for a bridegroom.
The other gift I opened was one of the very best I’ve ever received. There was an unwrapped Krispy Cracker box, and tied with white string instead of ribbon under the tree. It had my name on it. This unpretentious box held a pair of black velvet, high-top, button-up shoes that once belonged to Grandma’s only sister. They were a treasured dress-up item and they became mine, to take home, on that old fashioned Christmas. Those memories always bring a smile, as do the black velvet shoes, which haven’t fit me since I was ten.
I realized years later that the Christmas when my elderly grandparents gave their only grandchild the candle-lit tree, it was even more special for them than it was for me. Grandma gave me other treasured items but none are as special as the Christmas shoes.
We wish you all a joyful Christmas. Make new memories and cherish your loved ones. Peace from the Pines. Julie and the Gardener
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