Old Fashion Christmas

Ode to Friends

Old Fashion Christmas

Hearth and Home

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

  

            Indeed, Christmas is upon us.

            In southern New Mexico, there has been a breakfast and several lunches, gatherings, texts, emails, and church services to touch and to greet brothers, sisters, and friends in this season of our Saviors’ birth. Every occasion was special. We sang. We laughed. We told stories. We prayed. We enjoyed each other’s company. We offered words. We listened.

            Each was good and each had a hint of timelessness.

Many of us in this circle are not over the hill, but we are well up the ridge. It probably can be said that our horizons are no longer boundless, but our horizons are also bounded by all those who were part of this ride. That is the reminder that any shade of grey can be occasionally converted back to living color if we allow it and seek His presence.

Let’s pack this pannier full and remind ourselves that joy is not for sale over any counter. It comes from our hearts.

            Hearth and Home

            There is something profound about hearth and home.

Warmth is one of the constants. Every kid who learned to swing an axe, make a fire, and stand in front of his or her creation is lucky. Every kid who learned to sit in a quiet, darkened place watching only that fire is lucky. Every kid who was taught to clean a grate, bank a fire, or haul the ashes out of an open fireplace is lucky.

            The warmth from that process was likely a defining sensation. It made being cold only a temporal problem.

            There is something ageless about certain kitchens. Smell is one of the reminders. Every kid who had a grandmother who insisted on the renewal of traditional culinary artforms is lucky. Every kid who was taught to taste everything because its creation was passed down by some earlier day relative is lucky.

            The tradition from that process was a bridge to many things. It made family a real and powerful connection.

            There is something exhilarating about the cutting of the annual Christmas tree. The combination of smell and the feel of the familiar (and preferred) outdoors along with the rare accompaniment of the entire family is reassuring. Every kid who is handed a double bitted saddle axe or a meat saw to cut the carefully selected wild tree is lucky.

            The designation of that honor was a mark of the passage of time. It elevated the performer into a category beyond casual observer.

There is something enchanting, and, at the same time new, in unpacking familiar Yuletide ornaments. Fond memories are the reawakened sensations. Every kid who hung an ornament that was intended for him or her alone is lucky.

            The connection to that repeated act was reminder of continuity. It made decorating a personal and inclusive ritual.

There is something more than spiritual about the coming together of family on this most special of days. That can be demonstrated by those who want unity, or it can be derailed by those that seek division.

If it is unity that is observed and sought, lucky is the kid in that midst. It can be a lasting and lifelong lesson transformed into habit.

One prayer should be that our actions are worthy of imitation. If we can’t fix the greater problems, perhaps the better place to rekindle this whole thing is to fix our own actions in the presence of those kids who have now filled our once central role.

Old Fashion Christmas

It would be easy to say gifts from any Christmas long ago didn’t matter, but the truth is they did. A special .22 might come to mind along with other certain things of lifetime value, but the real memories are truly centered around other things.

I miss the people who made those long-ago celebrations so special. They don’t need to be arrayed in print because their names are forever embedded in my heart. That is the way it should be. Time has revealed so many things that I didn’t know or understand then. New appreciation is revealed every year and Christmas is a guidepost.

I miss, too, those homes without televisions or smart phones or microwave ovens (but had clocks that needed to be wound and could be heard ticking and chiming from the back bedroom). We had no idea what we witnessed when those masterful cooks stood in front of the oven tasting the dressing and commiserating about what was still lacking in its nuanced taste. We knew, though, what egg whites were, how to skim cream off the fresh milk and churn it into the butter that would be applied to the leavened rolls that might be fought over by those who wanted the last one in the pan.

Who today would believe that two gifts were actually better than five, or seven, or ten? The truth was less was a lot more than anybody today seems to fathom, but many of us can still remember when an old fashion Christmas was best.

I wish you an old fashion Christmas.

                        After all it is a most precious memory of our youth.

            It is eternal in that we can return to things of old and the folks

                        who were there when we sought love and simple truth.

            As we have grown older and perhaps more suspicious of life,

                        our expectations were altered from bright colors to shades of gray.

            But we are offered this gift of peace of tranquility as it

                        arrives once again and becomes a most holy of all days.

            Westerners everywhere take heed and offer prayers for those

                        who toil with their souls, their hearts, and their hands.

            For it is only our living God that understands our dedication, our respect, and

                        our love for the wonderful and bountiful gifts from our rural lands.

                Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Merry Christmas to you and your families.”