Today, with Christmas nigh, we reprint a classic holiday tale, updated for this year.
Comes a time on Christmas Eve when something most extraordinary happens at my house. Above and beyond what already makes the day so phenomenal, that is. That “something” will be the first hint of dusk.
The last-minute shopping will be done. But the delivery trucks will be running the ridges making their final drop-offs. There’ll be a suggestion of jolliness in the weariness of the drivers; they know their busy season is almost done (though St. Nick’s coda is still to come).
Ample firewood has been cut, split, stacked and covered outside the basement double doors, the gateway to “The Stone Beast.” That’s the large fireplace, now gainfully employed for a fourth year, that will not fall cold again until New Year’s night.
This year’s wood menu is heavy on oak, locust and cherry to ramp up the Btus. But there’s ample hickory, ash and even elm. There’s also some maple and apple in the mix. The wood stacks make one warm just looking at them in the receding daylight.
The dips, deviled eggs, confections and libations will be chilling in the fridges for the snacking and “Cheers!” to come. And not far off, the scent of a batch of freshly baked cookies will waft out of the kitchen.
There will be no fixin’s started this year for the Christmas Day feast; that delectable turkey dinner will be at a nearby brother’s house. And later on this coming nights of nights ahead, it will be the traditional ham sammiches and other goodies at another brother’s house.
And, lest we forget, grown men becoming kids again as they race their souped-up HO slot cars.
Thankfully, any COVID-necessitated separate gatherings are a thing of the past.
The cats — Oreo, Midnight, Oscar, Winslow and Wyeth – (yes, we have five) – will be taking turns all day snoozing in front of the fireplace. And they surely will be amused watching the antics of Griffin, the new black Lab puppy, now just shy of 7 months old.
Griff still is trying to figure out what this Christmas stuff is all about. But he has learned quickly. There have been no more attempts to eat the tree decorations, mistaken for snacks. Nor the cats. Ahem. There’s a developing détente. And, sometimes, it’s now the cats chasing Griffin.
And while we hope he’ll soon come, grudgingly, to accept the Polar Express Lionel train running under the basement tree, Griffin’s still not sure if it will or won’t jump the tracks and chase him down if he doesn’t remain vigilant – or behave.
Now, what he’ll do when Santa comes down the chimney remains a wild card.
Some of the junior illumination engineers on our Jones Mountain enclave will be a tad switch-happy by late afternoon. Dusk won’t yet be official but their outside Yule lights already will be on.
But most of the outside Christmas lights will remain off; those are the soulful neighbors who obviously know the majesty of this moment in outside time, too.
Inside, the Scots pine and Fraser fir Christmas trees will be aglow in white and colored lights, respectively. A rustle of air from a closing door, combined with the heat of the fireplace, soon to be banked for later, will send the mini blades slowly rotating inside nine “Twister” decorations on the fir.
The original “Twisters” have adorned McNickle family Christmas trees going on seven decades. A few newly acquired “Twisters” – at a premium, mind you – have been joining them the last few years. And just this summer, some dead-on “Twister” knockoffs from the 1990s were acquired.
On the fir, too, this year is a brand-new old topper, a lighted plastic angel, circa the late 1940s.
Strains of a Christmas song — “(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays,” Perry Como, circa 1962, and plenty of others — will be heard from the stereo. That stereo is tied into an internet radio receiver with a non-commercial station from the U.K. playing a refreshingly large and old selection of true holiday classics.
As wondrously simple and tranquil as all this inside “activity” is, a delicate minuet of nature yet again will begin to unfold around the gardens and back wood as the last light of the day fades. It’s like a silent movie to the cats, who’ll watch intently from inside. And this year, Griffin will join the reverent “Watch Squad.”
The cardinals will be fully engaged in one feeder as woodpeckers partake of a special blend of seed and nuts at another. Woodpeckers “crave” it, the packaging says. So it will appear. And those always entertaining “upside-down” nuthatches will be performing again, too.
Another year and another family of chipmunks will be running in and out of a burn pile, enjoying the fruits of deer labor. As those deer nibble on leftover corn cobs from discarded garden stalks, Chip ‘n’ Dale & family wait for any dried kernels to fall into the nesting void they’ve created.
It’s a neat trick that, yet again, will provide for all quite well this cold and windy Christmas. But note to self: Roust the critters from the pile when burn time comes yet again in the spring.
It is all these magnificent moments of the day soon to be done that are as fleeting as they are special. It is nature as it was intended to be.
And next, setting will be the sun.
Subtle will come the winds.
Sweet will be the smell of the crisp air, a hint of a light snow that still is forecast to fall.
And the circles of smoke from the chimney will indicate that the fire tender has just thrown on a well-seasoned piece of locust. It is pungent punctuation yet comforting at the same time. The only “Great Resignation” here will be the promise of a cozy night before the fire after returning from the brother’s house and reviving its banked embers.
One by one, the rest of the ridges’ Christmas lights will flicker on. On Jones Mountain, a lighted blow-mold shepherd and his sheep will watch over the Nativity as the three wise men bow before the Christ child and his parents.
A camel and a cow rest nearby. A pair of carolers standing under a flickering light post will fall silent to revere the scene. Santa and a pair of toy soldiers will be observing, too, as Frosty keeps guard on the new back patio and another Santa, riding a rocking horse, keeps the back deck secure and festive.
But the moment – that so special moment as the final light of day wanes — will be about to end, And, then, the dusk before Christmas will be gone.
Silent night.
Holy night.
All is calm.
All is bright.
And as Tennyson reminded:
“The time draws near the birth of Christ;
“The moon is hid;
“The night is still;
“The Christmas bells from hill to hill
“Answer each other in the mist.”
Merry Christmas, all.
Colin McNickle is communications and marketing director at the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy (cmcnickle@alleghenyinstitute.org).
