The Reindeer Keeper

Laurie's Thoughts and Reviews: The Reindeer Keeper by Barbara Briggs Ward - Excer... : ABOUT THE BOOK   Abbey senses something special about the little man tending to the reindeer who, along with a century-old farmhouse, a b...

The house where Santa came on Christmas Eve when I was growing up was situated beside a lane on a street with a bit of a hill. It was a great place to live when just a youngster and the place I look back upon fondly when thinking of hanging my Christmas stocking with my brother on the taped-together, heavy cardboard fireplace our parents brought down from the attic a few weeks before Christmas. We loved the fireplace. It looked real once the “fla mes” were plugged in. The flickering effect for some reason made me feel warm and cozy. Sitting on the black cardboard mantle in the same spot every year were a plastic Santa and Snowman. Once turned on, they’d light up. The snowman became a green or blue or red snowman-depending on the little bulb my mother chose. We always had a real tree. It always sat in the same corner of the front room. My mother insisted. She was a perfectionist when it came to decorating it after my father strung the lights. The smallest ornaments would be hung a...

Growing up out in the country mounds of snow were as much a part of Christmas as the presents. We never doubted if we'd have snow for Christmas. The question was how much of it would there be. Those wintery Christmas landscapes were strikingly beautiful day and night. Down in the pine grove, trees with thick, white branches looked like Christmas snow angels; fields and pastures stretching forever appeared tucked under the same blanket. In the evenings when skating on the creek-with the silver stars and dancing moon-sparkling diamonds lit the landscape as my cousin and I would talk Christmas lying atop the ice- wondering who got us what, trying to keep secrets, and fearing it would never arrive! Looking back we lived and played and waited anxiously for Santa Claus in a Currier & Ives Christmas scene-all part of the splendor of a snowy country Christmas.

My grandparents worked more than a full day every day no matter the season. There were no vacations; no sick time. From all my grandmother's daily responsibilities in the farmhouse-plus caring for six daughters and preparing the earth for the spring gardens-to my grandfather working the fields and tending to his duties in the barn-that farm defined them and left those of us who loved them a lasting impression of what the word "work" both looks like and means. When my grandfather came in through the back door of the kitchen in the evening after finishing his nightly chores in the barn, he'd take time to relax before going to bed. Besides being an avid reader he was quite skillful as a woodworker. It was that skill that created my most favorite Christmas present ever-a pine desk with a single drawer and matching stool which he made for me when I was seven. Leading up to Christmas that year my cousins and I weren't allowed in the kitchen of the old farmhouse d...

Christmas is the Gathering Season; families coming together; generations connecting around Christmas trees and kitchen tables and oak pedestal tables such as the one pictured here. It was a fixture in my grandparents' dining room in their old farmhouse. Weddings and birthdays; holidays and funerals-whatever the occasion that table served as host to those gathering. At Christmastime, we gather to celebrate. We gather to remember. We gather to share. We did all of that and more around that oak table. As bowls full of home-cooked favorites were passed from one to the other, conversations flowed and connections renewed. When the mince pies made the rounds, conversation came to a halt while outside the snow kept falling. As you gather this Christmas take the time to sit back and absorb the moments around the tree-around the table. They slip through our fingers too quickly and become memories. Happy Gathering!

I know I've written about our chicken coop clubhouse many times; telling you about all the fun my cousins and I had playing and pretending inside that old place. A favorite thing I liked to do was write little poems. I still like to do that and I thought it might be fun to share one with you-especially since it's a Christmas poem. This is for all the Christmas Bakers and Cookie Cutters and Gingerbread Men Makers: CHRISTMAS COOKIE FUN It's Christmas 'round the kitchen; We're making cookies by the dozen. We cut them from the spongy dough; then put them in the oven- to bake up warm and tasty; they're such delicious treats- We have so many recipes- some with oats and some with whole-grain wheat- or little chocolate morsels; topped with a brush of honey; Some turn out square or very round; Some look like elves so funny; or snowmen standing with their brooms or Santa in his sleigh- Mommy calls me her little helper as we pick up from our day. Sh...

While family traditions are as varied as snowflakes, they all come wrapped in memories. My grandmother's Christmas bread remains a tradition in our family. Although she is no longer with us, some in the family have continued the laborious process of scalding the milk; folding in the currants and candied fruit and seedless raisins and pineapple; then letting dough rise three times followed with more mixing and pouring and greasing-and then waiting and praying the batch in the oven passes the family taste and smell test. The bread had a certain texture. We all know it. Its aroma is unique and remains in the hearts of all fortunate to have called this woman Giddy-a nickname given to her by her first grandchild. It caught on. Everyone who knew her called her Giddy. The attached picture shows Giddy in one of her house dresses preparing the bread with greased tins ready to go. She knew that recipe by heart. She knew every recipe by heart if there was a recipe. Most times she just went...

Pictured here is my older brother showing off his new cowboy outfit Santa brought him "just a few years back" on Christmas. I'm in the rocking chair. With us are two cousins. Brothers are good to have. Maybe one doesn't realize it for they can be pests. Take this cowboy for example. It's not that he was a pest. It's just that he was the first born and in my parents' eyes-especially my mother's-and my grandparents, aunts, uncles,and cousins he could do no wrong. Growing up, because he was a few years older, he really never hung around with us younger ones. He never played in the clubhouse or skated on the creek with us. Instead, he hung around more with our grandfather-riding the tractor or going to town with our grandfather in his old truck. Aunts and uncles included him in activities and usually he got to sit at the big table during gatherings. We younger ones were never jealous or felt slighted. After all, he was the oldest. With his red hair and ...

I've blogged so much about my grandparent's old farmhouse. I've written about the parlors and the back stairs and front veranda; the dining room with the slanted floor and the bedroom upstairs with a secret passageway. All those memories played a role in my writing of The Reindeer Keeper. The warmth and joy of family felt in that old house has stayed with me through the years and it was those memories that I tapped into when writing about the family in my Christmas story. The barns and fields and pastures and pine grove in the book all stemmed from the surroundings around that old farmhouse. I only wish my grandparents were still alive to read The Reindeer Keeper. My grandfather would especially have enjoyed what happens inside the "majestic old barn" in the book. He was an avid reader; a lover of Christmas. I'm attaching a photo showing my grandmother cooking at her woodstove. You can see her in one of her house dresses which I've previously blogged abo...

In my previous blog I posted a photo of my grandfather's old barn which played a keyrole in "The Reindeer Keeper." Now I'd like to share another one I found Thanksgiving night when going through old photo albums with my brother. It shows the kitchen table I've talked about several times-the one we'd all gather around as a family at my grandparents. This old table has heard many a great arguement; kept many Christmas secrets; and withstood generations. I was fortunate to have been given this table by my aunt when she passed away. To say I treasure this heirloom doesn't begin to describe how happy I am to have this table in my home. Tonight my 18-month old granddaughter came for an overnight. As she climbed up onto one of the chairs shown in the picture; then stopped to play with the little ring on the wire near my grandmother in that very picture-before climbing on top of the table and sitting proudly where meals of so many before her had been served-I th...