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Christmas Memories From the Past Have the Power to Soothe Us
All in all, I had a pretty good childhood
I have a memory that is clear as a bell. Long ago, in a far-away place, a horse-drawn wagon brought us through the woods to a snow-covered field where evergreens grew in neat rows. We picked out the fullest tree, just the right size for our large family, and dragged it to the wagon behind us. Burly men wearing plaid coats wrapped it and tagged it and tossed it onboard. We climbed onto the wagon lined with hay bales and sang holiday songs to the jingle of the real bells on the horses’ harnesses, as the matched pair of dapple-gray, percheron draft horses pulled us back to the barn. It was filled with the scents of fresh hay, warm horses, and old leather. I was completely at home, never wanted to leave, and will treasure it always.
Every year we spent Christmas with my mother’s extended family, who lived an hour away. One holiday afternoon, around five o’clock, the snowflakes began to fall thick and heavy. We searched madly for hats and mittens and warm, woolen winter coats, and headed out the door with our gifts in tow. But our hour-long trip home was soon cut short by snow drifting across the highway, which was already flanked by two lines of buried cars that had skidded off the slick road. We weren’t going to make it.
