No White Christmases

Snow always brings thoughts of Christmas.

That’s likely because of the song – “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

I don’t remember a single snow on Christmas during my entire growing up years in southwest Oklahoma. And I’m not complaining. Snow just complicated things for farm families.

In my opinion, snow scenes are best viewed from inside a warm house.

U.S. Climate data says the average annual rainfall in Jackson County is 29.13 inches. I think it was less than 20 inches at our farm there. Of course our rain gauge was unofficial; likely a free one.

I think the quarter of a bale per acre cotton crops we sometimes harvested might testify to the smaller amount. We also considered 20-bushels per acre wheat a decent yield.

We never made much of a holiday, including Christmas. Mother might put in a little extra effort for Christmas dinner – maybe a turkey. She always got up way before dawn to start cooking it.

When I asked her why she did that, she explained it takes that long to cook it.

She never seemed to mind. She was dedicated to her family.

Christmas was like a usual day – get up while it was still dark and start the chores: first, milking cows, then feeding the animals. Somewhere in there, I’d turn the crank on the cream separator.

I think Dad might have shown the Christmas spirit on Christmas mornings, giving the cows a little more alfalfa hay than usual.

If there had been snow, he probably would have had me get in the granary and pass him numerous buckets of grain (probably oats) to give the cows extra energy to deal with the frigid temperature and snow covered-pasture.

Our Christmas presents usually lined up with our normal needs – socks, shirts, pants and maybe shoes to replace what we’d been wearing. We were practical.

Our Grandmother Smith in Weatherford often sent some gifts. It was no trouble to find somebody to check our rural mail box on the days leading up to Christmas. If Grandmother sent a bigger Christmas package than usual, the mailman might drive up our country lane to deliver it. The rural mail carriers were treasured friends as well as government employees. If the cows were out or something else wasn’t right, they’d let you know.

We didn’t go to church as much as some. That doesn’t mean we didn’t see examples of Christian living daily in our home and neighborhood.

I think Dad only went to church when one of us kids was in a program. Mother took us to church and Sunday school as often as she could work it in.

While not a church-goer, Dad was as moral a person as I’ve ever known; just not a lot of conspicuity.

If there was a problem for a neighbor, he was among the the first going to help.

Our life wasn’t unusual for that time. The Great Depression supposedly was coming to an end but that end hadn’t found its way to our house.

The Christmas stories that touch your heart always remind me that real Christmas spirit deals with people who have little giving to those who need it more.

That is what charity is about; not government spending other people’s tax money.

That thought reminds me of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s comment: The problem with socialism is that eventually other people’s money runs out, or something like that.

Socialists hated Thatcher (the Iron Lady) because she dared to expose statism. She called socialism a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But back to Christmas.

That was before television so we didn’t know about the “Grinch That Stole Christmas.”

However I enjoyed Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” and O’Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi.”

I don’t ever remember believing that Santa Claus was real. Even little farm kids knew that deer can’t fly – not even reindeer, even though I’d never seen one.

Mother loved music so our little radio setting on a table would be on, playing Christmas music. That is, if there had been enough wind to energize the wind charger setting at the southeast corner of the house. When the wind blew it charged the bank of batteries positioned just outside the window on the south side of the house.

There usually wouldn’t be as many relatives there as on Thanksgiving when the house would bulge with aunts and uncles, cousins and friends.

However, Grampa (that’s what I called him) could be counted on to walk up from his neighboring farm about dinnertime. That always made the day more festive.

And, yes, we all looked forward to the day. School was out.

Whatever your favorite Christmas memories, I hope that the ones you make on Thursday will add to them in large measure.

Merry Christmas, everyone.