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After
homesteading 28 acres, erecting log buildings and acquiring a donkey
family, this transplanted city family faced a first Christmas atop a
Montana mountain. Our neighbors had welcomed us with baked goods and
helpful favors, a lovely custom nearly lost and forgotten by city
folk. We were truly in love with our surroundings and all who dwelled
here.
My husband, Ken, who customarily preferred leaving holiday fussing up
to me and the children, surprised us by announcing he had been mulling
over a wondrous plan. Celebrating common bonds and perpetuating a new
lifestyle would culminate in 20 or so mailbox stops inviting all to
join us for a Christmas party. Holiday visions triggered fanciful
pictures as we planned sleigh rides, refreshments, carols and, of
course, a visit from St. Nick.
With such an invitation 'tis no wonder the entire neighborhood, our
grandchildren, and a few strangers from town showed up at Broken Tree
Ranch for the festivities. No problem. I (aka Mrs. Claus), am one of
those disgustingly organized ladies always ready for the least and
especially the most. Ken (aka Santa), however, was spending his
morning down in the barn grooming and harnessing our big gray donkey,
Gabriel, (aka Rudolph). Gabe was the first to learn sleighing and he
loved the attention. Nor did he seem to mind the sudden appearance of
deer antlers protruding betwixt his massive ears. After all, what did
Mary ride to Bethlehem?
The Lord smiled down on us that last Sunday before Christmas by
warming the air and showering our mountains with sunbeams. We squinted
joyfully as a fresh snowfall glittered like diamonds over the pond and
fields. Just past noon our two young riding students arrived as elves
and our lodge began to overflow.
Guests strained to listen and children's eyes grew huge with
anticipation as the rhythmic sound of our grandpa's antique sleigh
bells came jing-jing-jingling from within the woods. Santa shouted,
"Whoa . . . Rudolph," as they approached the front deck where a child
blurted out, "Where's Rudolph's red nose, mom?" Santa had pulled off
the scam of the year bearing the distinction as the best ho-ho-ho'er
ever heard in these parts. To this day nary a soul knows how St. Nick
attached those antlers, but they looked mighty fine.
The red clad Santa stepped from the sleigh asking the elves to mind
his toy-filled pack while he tended to sleigh rides. Shouts, laughter,
and carols penetrated the cold air while Rudolph trotted and jingled
his way through snowy pasture and forest, time and again. While
Rudolph rested, Santa took each and every child to his knee for Little
Lord Jesus Christmas day reminders and presenting each with a gift.
The day had become a happening while newspaper and television folks
took pictures and interviewed children. Why even our local scrooge
arrived with a truck load of goodies from his store. This dedicated
recluse had always seemed a crotchety old fella, but proved us wrong,
and a tiny bit ashamed. He never cracked a smile, but stated he liked
our sense of Christmas while passing out goodies to all. Encouraging
him to enjoy scrumptious holiday fare fell on deaf ears as he hurried
off playing his scrooge moniker to the hilt.
As twilight fell, Mrs. Claus lighted a dozen or so candles on the
mantel. Sleigh rides had been a roaring success. The media had their
stories, Santa had passed out gifts and Rudolph was in his stall
enjoying a richly deserved rubdown by the elves. Some folks retreated
to the loft to relish the scene as our local music teacher struck a
note on the organ. A deafening hush prompted all to settle down with
cookies and cocoa while 16 children bedecked in white paper collars
and red bows, ascended the stairway. Behind soft lights nestled in fir
boughs at their feet, the well rehearsed angels sent shivers down many
a spine. "Silent Night" and "Joy To The World" in harmony. "The Little
Drummer Boy" and a glorious "Carol Of The Bells" conjured up more than
one mother's tear.
Although we are mainly surrounded by lodge pole pine, that year we
brought in the biggest Christmas tree ever, a 14 foot fragrant Douglas
fir to tower along side the fireplace. And as I drank in the scene and
looked across the room, I wondered that I ever got the mammoth thing
decorated. My pi?ce de r?sistance of all time, and yet so simple.
Wisps of angel hair covered copious strings of tiny red lights
intermingled with golden plated angel ornaments and a sweet red and
white angel at the top, so befitting our young carolers.
The tradition continued for years and through generations of children
on our mountain until, alas, Mr. and Mrs. Claus grew weak and weary
and Rudolph had long since retired. Not long ago a young woman stopped
us in the mall and threw her arms around our necks. The young caroler
had grown up and married and was in town visiting her family. She
thanked us for giving her the happiest and most meaningful Christmas
ever. She was so welcome. |
