The Reindeer Keeper

It's one of those things-you don't realize how lucky you were kind of thing until you are remembering it! All winter long we had our own skating rink right out the back door and down the hill to the creek. We didn't have to depend on anyone taking us somewhere to skate inside an arena. We'd bundle up and disappear for hours. I don't ever remember getting cold but then that would have been impossible since we were in constant motion-racing, swirling and twirling in olympic-style fashion. The only thing that stopped us were frozen reeds sticking up from the ice. If we caught our skates on them, down we'd go-but not for long! Sometimes we'd pack a lunch and follow the creek as far as it allowed. Other times we'd skate at night under the moon and stars. It was breathtaking, with the moon acting as a spotlight and the frosty, snowy fields glistening while twinkling stars danced their winter dance. Lying on the ice, my cousin and I would enjoy the winter ni...

I really enjoy the fall; can't stand the muggy days of summer or drizzly days of spring-but winter, specifically January, tops the list as my favorite time of the year. It might be the contrast-harshness wrapped in breathtaking beauty. It might be the quiet after December's rush. It might be the welcome embrace of home when walking through the door as the snow flies and wind blows. It might be many things but one thing for sure-hot cereal cooking on top of the stove while toast is being toasted and hot chocolate is being stirred is the most soulful-most heartfelt reason for January to be the first of the twelve months on the calendar. My grandmother-my aunt-my mother all cooked hot cereal. They each had their variations. Some used brown sugar-some sprinkled cinnamon in the bubbling mix-some served it with cream instead of milk. My grandmother would add a dab of butter when dishing her cereal into a bowl. She used a simple sauce pan with a top that had a dent in it for cookin...

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!