The holiday season is a special time for everyone. It’s a time for families to get together, share memories of past Christmases and reaffirm one’s faith.
I have no idea with whom or where my grandparents’ Christmas tradition began. Somewhere from the valleys of Virginia, as far back as Ireland and Scotland, one of my Celtic predecessors with a gift for magic and a heart of gold lifted it from its story book beginnings and gave it life. To that loving soul, my long departed ancestor, “Thank you.” Thank you for my childhood Christmases of magic and wonder.
Whenever I think of Christmas my thoughts go back to the one spent at my grandfather’s farm in Comanche County. Maw Maw and Paw Paw Banner and all their offspring — my mother, her six brothers and sisters, husbands, wives and children — would gather for Christmas.
The adventure began with a morning whirlwind of boxes and bags put in our car and heading west out of Fort Worth for Comanche County. Being an only child, the prospect of spending Christmas with cousins my own age was exciting. I knew we were getting close to the end of our trip when we turned off the highway and began endless twists and turns on dusty county roads, and finally the opening of the gate leading us down the country lane to my grandparents’ farm. I couldn’t sit still. I scooted from window to window in the back seat. Looking behind us I could see cars following in our dusty wake. Finally we arrived.
Paw Paw stood on the front porch shouting, “Christmas Eve Gift” to each arrival. The house resounded with squeals and laughter of reunited families, whoops and hollers of exuberant cousins.
There was a roaring fire dancing in each fireplace. Clusters of mistletoe hung above the doorways and the smell of fresh cut cedar permeated the house. The door to the “Christmas Tree” room was closed to us little ones.
Smells of fresh coffee, spicy cakes of all kinds and Maw Maw’s cookies wafted through every room. The sideboard in the dining room was covered with food all the aunts and Maw Maw had made. My cousins and I would sneak into the kitchen and view the culinary wonders coming out of the Home Comfort wood stove.
I had never seen a wood stove before and I remember being amazed at how big it was. Without benefit of timers or thermostats, Maw Maw pulled one glorious miracle after another from this stove. With a hug and a wink, she would sneak tidbits of sweet raw dough to us or if we timed it right, beautiful golden teacakes.
When we became too rowdy, we were banished from the kitchen and told to go play in the gallery, which separated the bedrooms from the parlor, kitchen, dining and Christmas tree room.
As evening approached, the pace quickened, suspense mounted. Aunts, uncles and older cousins rushed about. They would disappear into the Christmas Tree room and then suddenly appear with smiles on their faces. I think they were as excited as any of the children.
At nightfall, the door was opened and we were awed at the sight of a huge cedar tree, shimmering ornaments, ropes of glistening berries, popcorn and tinsel hung from every branch. At the base of the tree were packages of every shape and size. It was truly a child’s delight.
Suddenly, an uncle’s voice rose above our chatter. “Listen!” The room fell silent. I climbed onto my dad’s lap, trembling, not knowing what was going to happen. He told me “Shh, listen. It’s Santa” Then I heard it ... the faint clear sound of Santa’s horn. It was blown in quick staccato blasts and it was coming closer. Sounds of jingling bells and harness, puffing stomping reindeer at the gate. A roll of merry laughter shook the night, footsteps sounded down the long gallery. I was holding onto my dad for dear life when suddenly the door was flung open and there was Santa, over his shoulder a bag bulging with toys, fruit, candy canes and other goodies from the North Pole. He was also dragging a box behind him filled with packages and more toys. He immediately began calling out names and handing out gifts, all the while laughing and giving hugs to everyone. Santa handed me my gifts and some fruit, but when he reached for a candy cane there were none left.
Quickly, my Uncle Shine reached into the Christmas ornament box and handed something to me. It was a light bulb of a Santa with a pack of toys on his back. It was made out of china and Uncle Shine tied a red ribbon around the bulb so I could hang it around my neck. He whispered, it was a special Santa and if I would always hang it on my Christmas tree where Santa could see it when he came to deliver gifts, I would never be forgotten on Christmas. I thought he was beautiful and for the rest of the night I kept looking at my Santa.
As quickly as he had arrived, he quickly departed with much laughter, hugs and a promise to see us next year. The sound of his horn faded into the distance as he and his reindeer continued on their appointed rounds.
After Santa left, all of the younger cousins gathered to examine all our toys and ooh and aah over them. The adults spent their time talking and laughing of past Christmases and talking about Santa’s visit.
The evening was concluded with food and music. Christmas songs and hymns were played on the piano by Mother and accompanied by Uncle Shine on his guitar and harmonica. I remember Maw Maw and Paw Paw sitting in their rocking chairs by the fireplace singing the hymns and tapping their feet to the music.
At last, sleepy children were tucked into bed. I can’t remember where everyone slept. Some returned to their nearby respective homes. I do remember being tucked into bed under layers of Maw Maw’s homemade quilts and hearing the horses whinny out in the barn. Before I went to sleep, I took my Santa from around my neck and put him under my pillow.
I don’t think Uncle Shine ever realized the impression that small gift of the burned out light bulb of Santa made on me.
That was the last Christmas spent at the “old home place” and I never heard the Christmas horn again, but the next Christmas, my Santa hung from our tree in Fort Worth in a prominent spot so Santa Claus would see him when he came to leave my gifts.
The magic continued even though the Christmas settings changed over the years. We started alternating Christmases between my mother’s sister, Auntie and Uncle Shine, Claudia and Gary. My parents and aunt and uncle managed to provide us with Christmas celebrations that we could never forget. As I matured, it became apparent to me they enjoyed these celebrations as much as my cousins and I did.
My husband and I started traditions of our own for our children. They have known the joy of visits from Santa, the sounds of huffing, pawing reindeer. The magic of Christmas.
Now I am blessed with four grandchildren. Every Christmas when we get together to decorate the tree, each grandchild hangs their special ornament, and the last ornament to go on the tree is my special Santa. He still has the original red ribbon around his neck even though it certainly shows its age. He is listed in the antique collectors book as being a “hand painted light bulb typical of the many whimsical items available in the early ‘40s.” But he still has the magic in him that makes me feel young again.
Blessed with the perspective of a mother and grandmother, I now have full access to the “closed door secrets,” the mysterious backstage shenanigans of my long departed ancestors. With gratitude I can gaze across the years and see my clowning, stuffed-bellied uncle crammed in folds of fleece and fur, my giggling aunts applying rosy cheeks, combing the flowing beards. I stand off stage and watch those merry nocturnal thespians waiting for their cues — the hunter’s horn, their bells jingling, foot stomping huffing, snorting reindeer. And children waiting by the tree, spellbound by this magic. What a grand time they had, and what wonderful memories they left behind.
Last year, one of my daughters asked, “Mother, why don’t you at least put a new ribbon on Santa?”
I replied, “No, that would ruin the magic. Santa would be disappointed and he might not visit me.” And so, this year my Santa goes on the tree again, with his old twisted red ribbon. His magic and memories remain untouched. A child will hold a seashell to its ear and listen for the sounds of the ocean. I hold my Santa to my heart to hear the never forgotten sounds of the Christmas horn, my family and our joyous holiday seasons. He is my legacy of love.
In our family, we have special foods associated with Christmas that are made every year. Through the years I have tried to omit some foods and add others . Each time the family says, “No, it wouldn’t be Christmas without Maw Maw’s apple cake or Jeff Davis pie, etc. So every year our menu is the same. I guess they have Christmas memories, too, and if they want the same things, who am I to say no.
I’ll share two of them with you.
Ruby’s fresh apple cake
4 cups apples, coarsely chopped
2 cups sugar
2 eggs (use large eggs)
1 cup cooking oil
2-1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 or 2 teaspoons cinnamon as desired (I use 1-1/2)
1 3/4 cup pecans, coarsely chopped
Chop apples coarsely leaving some pieces the size of a tea spoon.
Mix with sugar and let stand.
Beat egg whites until stiff; fold egg whites into beaten egg yolks
Add oil and mix well. Let stand.
Combine sugared apples and oil-egg mixture and mix well.
Sift dry ingredients together and add, along with pecans to apple mixture.
Pour into well-greased and floured tube pan, preferably a heavy bundt pan.
Bake at 350 degrees about 1-1/4 hours or until cake is done. (Use cake tester or spaghetti stick — should come out almost clean.) Turn out while cake is hot and drizzle 1 cup powdered sugar dissolved in juice of 1 lemon on cake. Grand Marnier or rum may be substituted for lemon. It just depends on which taste you prefer. It stays moist and will last as long as it is kept in the fridge. Of course, if your family is like mine, it doesn’t last that long. This cake is great with a cup of coffee or hot tea.
This pie was made every Christmas by my mother. The spices in it would give off a delicious aroma while baking. I found the recipe in a handwritten book of recipes mother had compiled through the years. The recipe is over 80 years old.
Jeff Davis pie
4 eggs
1 3/4 cup sugar
Butter size of an egg (1/2 stick)
1 cup whole milk
2 tablespoons flour
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon lemon extract
Mix all ingredients well. Pour into unbaked pie shell and bake at 425 degrees until knife inserted comes out clean. To keep crust from browning too much, wrap a ring of foil around it .
Bake, taste and savor the memories of Christmas.
Sometimes the most insignificant gift can be a wondrous treasure in the eyes of a child and one that never fades. My gift has remained my most treasured for over half a century.
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Janis may be reached at: jks4417@aol.com.
