Old-Fashioned Country Christmas Memories

Sitting here, staring at the absolute beauty of modern day decorating, and the works of art Christmas trees are today, I find myself dreaming about another place and time. How quickly my mind can wander to those old-fashioned country Christmas times I remember as a child. Even as I look at the handiwork of my wife, and the hours she spends getting it just right, I still see a simple little cedar tree my grandfather cut down. Afterwards he would nail two boards across the bottom for a stand, and hang what few old lights and ornaments they had on it. To a child that tree from the woods out behind the barn, was beautiful. Now as an adult, I would love to see it one more time.

As I remember the fragrance of that little cedar tree, I also remember the smell of wood burning in that old wood stove, that we would stand in front of, until the seat of our pants got hot. Competing with these aromas would be the smell of my grandmothers’ carrot or apple cake cooking in the oven. Nothing says Christmas like a house warmed by a fire, with the scents of the season throughout.

On other occasions, I can remember Christmas time at my paternal grandparents; no one could ever make candy as Grandmother did. She knew just what day was perfect to make her famous peanut brittle. Watching her pour that amber liquid, filled with peanuts, onto those big old marble slabs was like watching an expert candy maker at work. Even into my adulthood, she always saved a big bowl of her divinity just for me, as she knew it was my favorite. How I would love to taste those creations once more.

Nothing was ever more important in small country communities, than Christmas at the local church. Entire communities would come together, to celebrate the birth of our Savior Jesus Christ in song and see performances by the children in the church. Even non-churchgoers would show up for the programs at every little country church.

Since Christmas services at my grandparents’ church were usually on a different Sunday night than the one at mine, we typically always attended both. What I most remember about the services in that little white country church, was what happened at the end. Someone would always spot Santa in the yard and then he would come through the back door of that little church.

Eventually he would make his way to the Christmas tree at the front of the church. Under the tree, there was always a vast array of wrapped gifts and to my amazement, even though I did not attend that church, there was always a gift under there with my name on it. What would really fascinate me is that the gift was something I had asked for, making me believe that the Santa that came to that little Methodist church had to be the real thing. Every service ended with Silent Night, reminding us why we were there celebrating.

Many gifted songwriters have written songs about their ideas of a country Christmas. I feel very blessed to have experienced the type of Christmas some only know in song. Even now, as I ponder while looking into this beautiful Christmas tree, I can picture every memory that made old-fashioned Christmas times, the best kind of Christmas for me. If I listen hard, I can hear each voice singing, “Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright, Round young virgin mother and child, Holy infant so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace!