NANCY SMITH'S MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS LONG AGO

    The following story was written by my cousin, Nancy Smith Cockerham, the daugthter of Vernon and Marie Smith. Vernon was my mother's older brother. This  writing has always been very special to me, not only because it was superbly written, but, because it  is about family, the farm and home where I grew up. Thank you, Nancy!

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FOND MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS LONG AGO

by  Nancy Smith Cockerham

     Remembering Christmas Day when I was a little girl, growing up in Iowa, brings back fond memories. In my memory, the drive to Aunt May and Uncle John's farmhouse was as beautiful as any scenic Hallmark Christmas card. As I peered eagerly through the frosted car windows, the cornfields were covered with new fallen snow. The soft snowflakes swirled on the gravel roads as we passed. The air was crisp and clear and filled with anticipation. As we finally turned into their lane, I could see the two rows of enormous pine trees, each bough tipped with snow, protecting the north side of their house. Their elegant, white farmhouse glistened in the morning sunlight reflected off the fresh snow.

     Nobody ever used the front door at Aunt May's house. I remember thinking that it must be for decoration. We always entered through the knotty pine back porch, which smelled of fresh pine boughs that were hanging on the kitchen door. The floor was lined with small,, medium and large boots; because guests always took their boots off on the back porch at Aunt May's house. Uncle John's gray coveralls were hanging on a hook on the back porch, which meant he was finished with "chores," and ready to enjoy Christmas Day.

     As we opened the kitchen door, the warm aroma of turkey baking in the oven,and freshly baked pies, poured out to greet us. My grandma always gave me a big hug, and she always knew I'd gotten taller since the last time she'd seen me. My aunts all agreed as they shouted a warm greeting to us from their various work stations in the kitchen. The volunteer army of cooks were chattering and laughing as they basted the turkey, peeled the potatoes, and poured the red layer on the Christmas jello.

     We were told, "Just put your coats on the bed." We always knew which bed they meant. There was a bedroom, which on Christmas Day, always transformed into a coatroom. The double bed in the center of the room held a mound of multicolored coats and snowsuits adorned with bright colored scarves and mittens. They all snuggled together until it was time to go home again.

     As we walked through the dining room, my cousins were putting the finishing touches on the longest dining table I had ever seen. It was covered with a snow-white linen tablecloth and trimmed with Christmas-red linen napkins. The dishes and glasses sparkled in the sunlight shining through the south bay window. The oak cupboard that reached from the floor to the ceiling, and the oak woodwork, had been polished to a warm, rich glow.

     Finally, we walked through the wide, oak-trimmed doorway into the living room .Across  the room stood the Christmas tree in a semicircle of tall windows, the perfect showcase for a Christmas tree. The top of that magnificent pine tree touched the ceiling; which in my memory, was at least twenty feet high. On the top branches rested an angel, in a cloud of angel hair, sprinkled with gold glitter and gold stars. The ropes of silver garland crisscrossed the huge tree, as if holding  the branches snugly in place. The brightly colored ornaments had each been placed with loving care. My eyes were drawn to the tiny bubble lights, which I had never seen before. They looked like a miniature, glass candle perched on each branch, in which tiny bubbles continuously rose to the top. The sun sparkled on the silver tinsel that mysteriously fluttered close to the tall windows. We added our gaily wrapped contributions to the heap of bright packages waiting temptingly under the perfect Christmas tree.

     I enjoy remembering my uncles and my dad sitting around the living room relaxing and smoking their pipes and cigarettes, a very acceptable and masculine thing to do in those days. One of my uncles would lift me up with his strong arms and lift me to his lap. Smiling down at me , he would ask, "What did Santa bring you this year?" I still remember the look of love in their eyes as they listened intently while I listed my newest treasures.