Tag: Christmas

When I was in third grade, my family moved to Springfield, Vermont. I was too young (as yet) to live on my own, so despite the fact that I would miss my friends I decided I better go with them. Ha, ha!  We were there for about a year, covering all of the seasons. My favorite was Christmastime. We got a lot of snow in Vermont, and the sledding was unbelievable. We leased a house at the foot of a mountain. There was a wide gate at the back of the yard which opened to a trail up the mountain. Dad would open the gate, and my brother and I would sled ride down the hill and into the back yard. We’d be outside for hours, seemingly immune to the cold. Mom would wave from the kitchen window.

Dad decided it would be nice to hike up the side of the mountain and pick out a Christmas tree and cut it down. Off we headed, up the hill, dad carrying a tree saw. It took some time to find an appropriate tree. Perfect size, perfect shape. The tree he found was a whopper. I was only a third-grader, so it looked huge to me. Dad cut the tree down, and we dragged it back down the side of the mountain and into the back yard. We traipsed inside and threw our coats on the floor of the mud room, kicked off our boots, and headed to the kitchen where mom had hot chocolate waiting on the stove. You know, the good stuff made with milk and Hershey’s syrup.

I picked up an anthology of poems at the library today titled Commonwealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania. We are blessed in Pennsylvania with a number of wordsmiths, poets, novelists, essayists, dramatists, biographers, children’s authors and short story writers. The collection is edited by Marjorie Maddox of Williamsport and Jerry Wemple of Bloomsburg. One poem caught my eye and reminded me of the day we cut down the Christmas tree in Vermont. I wanted to share that poem with you now. It’s by Len Roberts.

Climbing the Three Hills in Search of the Perfect Christmas Tree

Just seven nights from
the darkest night of the year, my son
and I climb
the three hills behind
the white
house, his flashlight
leaping
from hemlock to fir,
to white
pine and blue spruce
and back
again, Up up higher
he runs,
shadow among larger
shadows
in the below-zero,
constellated
half-mooned sky, his
voice
so distant at times
I think
it is the wind, a rustle
of tall
grass, the squeak of my
boots
on new snow, his silence
making
me shout, Where are you?,
his floating
back, Why are you so slow?,
a good
question I asked myself to
the beat
of my forty-eight-year-old
heart,
so many answers rushing up
that
I have to stop and command
them back,
snow devils whirling
before
me, behind me, on all
sides,
names that gleam and
black
out like ancient specks
of moon-
light, that old track
I step
onto like an escalator
rising
to the ridge where the
best
trees grow and I know
I will find my son.

I am so sorry to be reblogging this older post so late. I wanted to get it up on the site by Christmas Eve, but I forgot. I hope you enjoy this tale about Christmas through the eyes of a young boy.

Wow, only four days til Christmas Day. The last year went so fast I almost forgot there were twelve months. Sometimes the days seem to run together. Partly because of the limited daylight. It’s typical for office workers this time of year to go to work in the dark in the morning and come home after work in the dark. Add to that all the rushing around as Christmastime draws near. Time slips by without seeming to move the hands on the clock.

When I was young, time seemed to stand still on Christmas Eve. About six o’clock on WNEP 16 out of Scranton, PA, up-to-the-minute tracking of Santa Claus on radar would begin. It always felt like bedtime would never get here. And when it did, I would never be able to get to sleep. It’s Christmastime, I would think. Santa’s coming. If I go to bed. If I close my eyes and give in to slumber. Impossible, is what I used to think as I looked at the clock again and again, hoping it was time. Everything moves like a snail. Funny, but none of the adults seemed to notice this time problem. They would eat and drink and sing and dance around the living room, smiling and toasting one another. They were oblivious. But how is this possible, I would wonder? How can they be so calm?

Santa’s coming. Quick, everyone. Finish your merriment and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Clean up. Get a plate of cookies and a glass of milk ready for Santa. He’s coming! Straighten up the living room. Move those extra chairs out of the way. Santa needs to put my new bike there. Oh wow, this is taking so long. I can’t stand this. I really can’t. The excitement is causing me to nearly tremble. I have to pee, but I’m afraid to tell anyone. Maybe I can wait til I go upstairs to brush my teeth. It’s as though I think time will slow down even more than it has already. Oh, I have to go now! No waiting til bedtime. Well, what can I do? Nothing. I look at the clock. I don’t believe the hour hand has moved more than a half inch. You’ve got to be kidding me!

After what feels like half a week, it’s finally time to go to bed. I run up the staircase, nearly slipping and planting my face in the carpet at the top of the steps. I dash into the bathroom and head straight to the toilet bowl. I barely get my snaps open before the water works begin. Without having to be told, I grab my toothbrush and get brushing. I know Santa’s watching. I’ve known that for a long time. Have to listen. Have to be good. He is always checking. Sometimes twice. I’ve been nice. I’ve not been naughty. I finish up and sprint to my room to climb in my bed. I am thinking that maybe I should skip my prayers tonight and go straight to sleep. But wait, Santa will know if I don’t say my prayers. So I fold my hands and I get started. Short, but sweet. Done in ten seconds. I reach up and kiss my mom goodnight. She tucks me in and I squeeze my eyes shut real tight, hoping that will cause me to go right to sleep. It doesn’t. My heart is pounding. I can feel it in my ears and in the ends of my fingers. I can’t help but thinking, This is going to be a long night.

Believe it or not, before I know it I am opening my eyes. I look at my clock. It’s six o’clock. At first, I’m thinking the clock never even moved. That it’s still the same time it was when I looked at the living room clock. Then it comes to me. It’s morning. I can’t imagine what might be waiting for me downstairs. I scream out loud. I can’t help myself. I just can’t. Mom shows up at my door grinning from ear to ear. Dad is standing behind her. Good. It’s time. No more waiting.

I nearly tumble down the steps as dad calls out, Take it easy Sport. I am not even all the way down the steps when I see the handle bars. Yep! Handle bars atop a brand new shiny bike. The bike is surrounded by dozens of presents. I am speechless. I took at mom and dad, and then I go sit on my new bike. Mom already has her Instamatic up to her eye, taking my picture. Dad says, Well, what do you think? I just grin and lean in to the handle bars, pretending I’m flying down Race Street hill, leaving a trail of flames behind me. Then I remember, there are presents to open. Man, this is just fantastic. I dive in, ripping at the wrapping paper. Present after present, I am blown away. I stop for a brief moment and think, This was well worth the wait.

Merry Christmas to everyone. Stay safe. Be healthy. Be thankful. And above all else, be patient. Because sometimes the clock just doesn’t seem to move at all.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

© Steven Barto 2014