An old fashioned Christmas

When our family lived on a stump ranch during the depression, lean Christmases didn't lessen their importance.

The season always began with Mom getting the Christmas box out of storage. With the sad irons heating under an iron skillet on the wood kitchen range, we'd go through the box and take out all of the wrapping paper. After smoothing it out on the ironing board, I'd gently iron it smooth so we could re-use it.

Then I'd try to think of something I could give my parents. One year, when I was in junior high taking home ec., the school had some embroidery floss and transfers, so I took one of Mom's newer dishtowels to school and decorated it for her gift. I still have this 68-year-old towel. On it are black geese, a pink rabbit with a blue tail, a parrot with multicolored feathers, a nice brown French knot for an eye and orange feet. Depression era kids made the best of what we had.

A gift for Dad was harder. Somehow I had a quarter, so I went in the Whitefish men's wear store and asked the clerk if he had anything for a quarter. The only thing he had was a pair of garters, but they were in a box and looked pretty good to me. Later when Dad opened the gift, all he said was, “Hrumph!”

One year when I was about ten and little sis was five, the folks let us go out and get our Christmas tree. We didn't have to go far, with forests all around. As we trudged through the deep snow, the ax across my one shoulder and pulling the sled with the other hand, we soon spotted just the right tree, probably about five feet tall. I chopped and chopped and finally got it down.

Then the trip home, tree on the sled, ax over my shoulder, little sis starting to complain that she was getting tired, as her little legs plodded through the deep snow. But we proudly got our very own tree home.

The Christmas custom in our family was to go to Midnight Mass and open gifts afterward. Mom always forgot her purse and had to go back to the house for it after us kids were in the car. That's when she'd put gifts under the tree. We kids usually got mittens.

Without electricity, we couldn't have lights on the tree but one year Mom ordered clip-on candle holders and small candles lights from the Monkey Ward catalog.

On Christmas Eve, the folks carefully got ready to light the candles on the tree. Dad got a big bucket full of water in case a candle set the tree on fire. Mom used a long splinter of wood to light each candle and we kids looked wide-eyed at the beauty.

They didn't stay lit very long, but it didn't take long to imprint that lovely lighted tree in our young minds.

The year of the Christmas program was special. Although we went to school in Whitefish, Dad was a member of the Canyon View School Board, so we were invited to their Christmas program. In order for us kids to participate, Mom coached us and we sang “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. Santa gave each child a little sack with an orange, nuts and hard candies in it.

Apparently the folks had a little more money when, I got a white rabbit fur muff for Christmas. Dad and I were going to Great Falls on the train to visit grandma. While Dad was in the smoking car, the conductor came to me, pointed to the muff and grouched, “Animals have to ride in the baggage car.”

His eyes sparkled and he was pretending to take my muff, just as Dad came back to our seat. The men laughed, but I saw nothing funny in the incident as I looked out the window and saw the reflection of a little girl with a white muff.

The simplicity of Christmas back then was a spiritual celebration. No Black Fridays. No towns with lights on every street corner. No big sales or kindles or Barbie dolls complete with different wardrobes.

A good old-fashioned Christmas consisted of the crèche and family and an afternoon with all of the neighborhood kids tobogganing down the hill, then coming in at dusk to take off our woolen ski pants, wash up and have a bowl of chili before tumbling wearily into bed.