Under the Wire

It is traditional for a columnist to write a Christmas column. I need the job so I had better crank one out. My problem is, these need to be written a month or so before the paper needs them. The day I decided to write this, it was 70 degrees outside. It was hard to get into the Spirit.

Out of desperation, I decided I needed to create a winter like atmosphere to put myself in the mood. I waited until Sue was out of the house for the day. First, I turned the air conditioner down to a little below 40 degrees. I then broke out the box of last year’s Christmas cards and taped them all over the kitchen walls. The temperature in the room began to drop below 50 degrees. I pulled on my winter coat, four-buckle overshoes, scotch cap (ear flaps down) and mittens. Gradually, as frost began to form on the house plants, I found myself lapsing into a more winter like mood.

I let my eyes drift over the Christmas scenes displayed on the card covered walls, seeking inspiration.

As my eyes went from one scene to another I waited for an idea to hit me. Once my eyes darted to a copy of a magazine I’d accidentally left out while I prepared my Winter Wonderland. A headline stated that less than one percent of the population lives on American’s farms and ranches. Quickly I hid the non-Christmas stimulation and just as quickly the idea struck me. Every card depicted a scene my few neighbors and I can see nearly all the time. Pristine skies, undisturbed fields of snow. Animals and people frolicking in a Winter Wonderland one percent of us call home.

Nowhere were there Christmas scenes of smog polluted skies highlighted by a 7/11 sign. Not a single festive garbage truck to be seen. No muggers lined up caroling to an appreciative squad car.

That was it. Ninety-nine percent of the people live in non-agricultural areas but their cards show pictures of our fields, our animals, our clean skies. Heck, we live in Christmas. Rural dwellers are the modern day shepherds tending the flocks. It is country folk who build and maintain the stables and yes, even a few mangers. If a blizzard strands a car out on the county road, we take the occupants into our homes to shelter them until they can travel on.

As the cold began to numb my writing hand, I got excited. There might not be many of us left out here in the sticks, but we are the keepers of Christmas. When the fast-paced city dwellers start to look around for symbols of Christmas, it’s not a garbage truck they want a picture of, it’s my barn and that’s OK. I always knew I was blessed to live in the country, but it took this Christmas in August to make me realize how lucky I was.

I sat back in my chair to let the feeling soak in. In spite of the cold that now was starting to fog up the windows throughout the house, a very warm feeling crept over me. The warm special feeling of Christmas. It is un-mistakable and there’s nothing like it.

As you read this in what really is the Christmas season, look around you. See many festive garbage trucks? Probably not. What you do see is a world that for a few weeks everyone envies and appreciates. In fact, Christmas really is alive, in rural American all year long.

I might have lingered with those thoughts longer if the back door hadn’t opened suddenly. In walked Sue. There I was, dressed inappropriately, surrounded by pretty much dead house plants. Let me say she was not full of the Christmas spirit . Sue’s mood was, in fact, only matched when the $200 electricity bill arrived.

As for me, it was worth it. Christmas is too special to enjoy only once a year. In fact, I’ve made a deal with the guy down at the local meat locker in case I decide to write one of these next year.

Merry Christmas to you all. It is traditional for a columnist to write a Christmas column. I need the job so I had better crank one out. My problem is, these need to be written a month or so before the paper needs them. The day I decided to write this, it was 70 degrees outside. It was hard to get into the Spirit.

Out of desperation, I decided I needed to create a winter like atmosphere to put myself in the mood. I waited until Sue was out of the house for the day. First, I turned the air conditioner down to a little below 40 degrees. I then broke out the box of last year’s Christmas cards and taped them all over the kitchen walls. The temperature in the room began to drop below 50 degrees. I pulled on my winter coat, four-buckle overshoes, scotch cap (ear flaps down) and mittens. Gradually, as frost began to form on the house plants, I found myself lapsing into a more winter like mood.

I let my eyes drift over the Christmas scenes displayed on the card covered walls, seeking inspiration.

As my eyes went from one scene to another I waited for an idea to hit me. Once my eyes darted to a copy of a magazine I’d accidentally left out while I prepared my Winter Wonderland. A headline stated that less than one percent of the population lives on American’s farms and ranches. Quickly I hid the non-Christmas stimulation and just as quickly the idea struck me. Every card depicted a scene my few neighbors and I can see nearly all the time. Pristine skies, undisturbed fields of snow. Animals and people frolicking in a Winter Wonderland one percent of us call home.

Nowhere were there Christmas scenes of smog polluted skies highlighted by a 7/11 sign. Not a single festive garbage truck to be seen. No muggers lined up caroling to an appreciative squad car.

That was it. Ninety-nine percent of the people live in non-agricultural areas but their cards show pictures of our fields, our animals, our clean skies. Heck, we live in Christmas. Rural dwellers are the modern day shepherds tending the flocks. It is country folk who build and maintain the stables and yes, even a few mangers. If a blizzard strands a car out on the county road, we take the occupants into our homes to shelter them until they can travel on.

As the cold began to numb my writing hand, I got excited. There might not be many of us left out here in the sticks, but we are the keepers of Christmas. When the fast-paced city dwellers start to look around for symbols of Christmas, it’s not a garbage truck they want a picture of, it’s my barn and that’s OK. I always knew I was blessed to live in the country, but it took this Christmas in August to make me realize how lucky I was.

I sat back in my chair to let the feeling soak in. In spite of the cold that now was starting to fog up the windows throughout the house, a very warm feeling crept over me. The warm special feeling of Christmas. It is un-mistakable and there’s nothing like it.

As you read this in what really is the Christmas season, look around you. See many festive garbage trucks? Probably not. What you do see is a world that for a few weeks everyone envies and appreciates. In fact, Christmas really is alive, in rural American all year long.

I might have lingered with those thoughts longer if the back door hadn’t opened suddenly. In walked Sue. There I was, dressed inappropriately, surrounded by pretty much dead house plants. Let me say she was not full of the Christmas spirit . Sue’s mood was, in fact, only matched when the $200 electricity bill arrived.

As for me, it was worth it. Christmas is too special to enjoy only once a year. In fact, I’ve made a deal with the guy down at the local meat locker in case I decide to write one of these next year.

Merry Christmas to you all.