Christmas at the Farm

Ethan

While I write this you and your dad are driving to Chico to spend some Christmas time with Grandma Fossum and me. Here in Chico we are both anxiously awaiting your arrival. The Christmas tree is lighted, Grandma is busy in the kitchen, and the gifts are under the tree. We can hardly wait to see you.

As I await your arrival I am thinking back to my childhood as I remember driving to my Grammy Spickler's home on the farm. There were five of us packed in the blue Chevrolet along with numerous gifts. Our route took us 140 miles past snow-covered fields as we passed dozens of beautifully decorated farmhouses, several towns and across the Mississippi River. Grammy Spickler was always waiting at the front door when we arrived.

The Christmas tree was cut from the woods in the back of the farm and it was always trimmed beautifully with many special decorations hanging from the branches.

It took time for all of the friends and relatives to arrive, especially when there was a bad snow storm. As they gathered there was talk of the weather and the corn crop, farm machinery and crop prices.

It took a long time to prepare dinner. There were a lot of mouths to feed, usually relatives I didn't know very well. Grammy Spickler's sisters were there: Aunt Nellie and Sister Ella, and boy could they cook. It seemed to take hours to prepare the dinner, but it was worth the wait. It seemed that Grammy Spickler was always in the kitchen

Once we sat down and said grace, the dinner was served: Roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh baked rolls, string beans, and dessert. Dessert was home-baked apple pie and white layer cake.

Since there wasn't room for adults and children at the table, we kids sat at our own table.

My cousin, Keith was just back from the War, and he and Elaine were newlyweds. I remember them sitting on the couch and snuggling. One Christmas Keith had to bring in a whole litter of baby pigs to keep them warm. They wouldn't have survived if they had stayed in the barn. By the next day the pigs were back with their mother and doing fine.

The big excitement, of course, was opening the presents. One year I got my electric train and another year I got my new Silver Streak sled. Most of our gifts were practical: a new flannel shirt, or a stocking cap, new winter gloves and story books.

My brother and I always wanted to stay up late so we could see Santa Claus, but we could never stay up that late. Grammy Spickler's house didn't have a fireplace, so we hung our stockings from the railings on the stairway.

We were always up early and came down stairs quietly so as not to bother the grownups. And guess what, Santa had been there! He never let us down. Grammy Spickler was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast. We asked here if she saw Santa Claus, and she would say, nope, I didn't get up that early.

Grammy Spickler was the only grandparent I ever knew. She was loving but firm and always had a twinkle in her eye. If I got out of line she would always say that she was going to pulverize me. I had know idea what pulverize really meant. But I knew enough to know that I'd better not do what I was doing. That's all I needed to know.

I loved to go to the farm. It was where my mother was born and where she grew up. I felt free at the farm, and I always felt safe. Most of all, I loved the farm at Christmas time.

Portia and me

I loved going to my grandmother's farm in Illionis. My mother was born and raised there.

My grandmother was widowed by the time I came along, and she ran the farming operation assisted by a couple of hired men, mainly neighbors. She tended the chickens, raised the garden, cooked the meals, and maintained the house. Grammy Spickler was a not a large woman, but she was strong and could carry two buckets of water from the pump quite easily.

She was very loving , but could be sterm when need be. When my sister and I got out of line, she would say that she was going to pulverize us or skin us alive. We had no idea what that meant, but it had to be something pretty awful. When we went to bed at night she always tucked us in and said our nightly prayer. "Now I lay me down to sleep."

I always had trouble going to sleep at night because I knew I'd get to see my friend Portia the next day. Portia lived on a farm about half a mile up the the road. At 9:00 Grammy Spickler would call Portia's mom to see if we could play together. The answer was always "yes."

So off I went up the road to Portia's farm. It was a long walk, especially in the winter. But I knew Grammy Spickler watched me all the way.

Portia's family raised horses and frequently road in trail rides and local horse shows. They were members of the Illinois City Saddle Club. Portia had two shetland ponies named Danny and Peanut, and they were the reason that I didn't sleep very well the night before. Portia and I were going to saddle up and ride.

Portia came out of the house wearing a checked shirt, dirty Levi's and a pair of worn-over cowboy boots that were hand-me-downs from Portia's older brother, Vaughn. (My sister had a crush on Vaughn.)

We saddled up the ponies and headed down into the timber. We would ride all morning before heading back up to the house where we ate peanut butter sandwiches and glasses of fresh farm milk. But first we unsaddled and watered the ponies, fed them some oats and let them roll in the dust.

After lunch we road the ponies back down to Grammy Spickler's farm and ate some of Grammy Spickler's sugar cookies and a glass of milk. After our snack we saddled up again and raced the ponies back to Portia's farm. For a while we'd help Vaughn do some of the chores in the barn. By then it was time for me to head back down the road to my grandmother's farm.

For years Portia and Iwere great friends. As we got older we rode bigger horses, took longer rides and participated in some of the saddle club events on Matched Pairs with fancy saddles and bridles. Portia's farm was sold after a big fire that took the house and barn. Portia got married and moved to a farm down in the bottom land along the Mississippi River. A few years back while Diane and I were visiting my cousin Keith we drove down to visit Portia who was just the same as ever, dirty jeans, rolled over cowboy boots, smoking a cigarette. Life hadn't been easy for Portia.

That's when I realized that in all the years of our friendship that Portia was not a boy.