Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.
~Norman Vincent Peale
It was magic. The Christmas etched indelibly in my mind was the type of Christmas that greeting cards depict and poems are written about. As a young child I was being driven “over the hills and through the woods” to my grandmother’s home in Sussex, Wisconsin. We slipped and slid over icy roads. My dad, the determined driver, managed to maneuver us out of a snow bank as my mom sat by his side.
There I was, the Mississippi-born girl, bouncing in the back seat asking, “When will we be there, when are we ever going to be there?” This was to be my first Christmas in Wisconsin with my mom’s family.
We were to arrive early afternoon on Christmas Eve but because of the ice and snow we were much later than planned. The skies darkened early as the weather worsened. There was tension in the car between my parents. They worried for our safety. My excitement couldn’t be contained, for this was pure adventure.
Hugs, screams, and shouts of welcome met us as the door opened and my aunts, uncles, and grandmother rushed to greet us. We unloaded the car and my family began piling food and goodies on the table for us to eat. There was “soft talk” in the background. “Grown-up” talk about roads being closed and how thankful they were we’d traveled safely. Uncle Bud broke out his special dominos—a favorite activity for him and my dad. My mom huddled with her mom and sisters catching up on all the news.
I realized that my family had very different speaking voices than I did. There were things in this unique home I’d never seen before. The quiet and calm of the rooms seemed filled with expectation. Christmas was almost here.
Outside the snow grew heavier. The sights, smells, and thoughts I experienced that night would be part of this Christmas memory forever.
Cuddled down after some hot chocolate and my grandmother’s one-of-a-kind “lifelike cut-out cookies,” I yawned. Meme’s antique couch cushioned every inch of my body. My uncle sat down beside me and I snuggled into his arms. The family drifted into the room, dimmed the lights, lit the tree, and whispered their words.
I heard things like, “Where should she sleep?” I knew they meant me.
I’d not considered sleeping in this strange place but guessed that was in the plan. A bed was readied and I was snuggled into warm pajamas. The biggest, fluffiest blankets covered me. It was to be a cold night. The snow continued to deepen.
“Reindeer.” I heard that word from my uncle. I’d been a little concerned about Santa. We were eight hundred miles from home. Would he find me? Would I get any Christmas gifts? My parents assured me they’d left a note for him and he’d know exactly where to leave my presents. I wasn’t at all sure he would find this house.
My uncle Dave had a sleigh. I’d been told he’d hook up the horse and I’d get to ride in a one horse open sleigh complete with bells. How could I go to sleep with the prospect of Santa coming and my own sleigh ride the next day?
“Reindeer bells.” My ears perked up. I was told, “If you go to bed soon you will probably hear the reindeer tonight. Children do hear them every year. In fact, not only will you hear their bells, you will see their footprints in the snow tomorrow morning!”
It was hard to catch my breath at the thought of hearing the bells and then seeing their footprints. I tried “not” to sleep. I lay in the bed listening, waiting, and straining to hear every creak and groan of the house. Fatigue took over my body and while listening to adults talking and getting themselves ready for bed, my sleep came.
The room was dark as my eyes opened. The house was quiet. It was hard to remember where I was. My eyes became accustomed to the dark and my breathing stopped as I heard a bell. The ringing was a gentle, mellow sound and it was not inside the house. It was assuredly outside. It was the sound of reindeer bells.
My mom and dad were asleep. Would they hear the bells? Wide awake, I lay perfectly still, for as long as I could. Sleep soon came again.
Sunlight streamed in the window. Even the curtains that hung there are etched in my memory. My family woke me with shouts of, “Merry Christmas! Santa visited us last night! Did you hear the reindeer?”
I remember jumping up and my uncle ushering me to the window.
“Look! Look right out there! Do you see the hoof prints? There they are!”
They were there. Hoof prints were clearly in the snow.
Breakfast couldn’t have been better. The tree could not have been more beautiful, the day couldn’t have possibly been more wondrous. It was the Christmas a little girl would only dream of and I would experience once in my life. The ride in the one-horse open sleigh with my uncle Dave and my cousin Donna was all I’d hoped. We were all snuggled down in the blanket and the horse decked in bells. The ride through the hills and dales of the family farm was like a fairytale.
I have held the memory of the bells and the hoof prints in the snow all these years. Christmas brings a sense of sweet nostalgia and the little girl inside my soul will always recall the Wisconsin Christmas filled with reindeer magic.
