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We are well into January now and the Christmas Holidays have passed us by again but not without leaving me with thoughts and memories, both old and new.

I drove through the mountain communities surrounding me and watched as the different Christmas holiday decorations were placed and hung and then observed as they were taken down. At least most of them are down by now.

I feel in touch with my inner child at Christmas every single year! I love the feeling of excitement in thinking about gifts, and I love putting up the tree and decorating the house. Some of my decorations are very old, and some are new, and the combination of the two always makes me smile.

Christmas and holiday memories and traditions have deep roots in Appalachia with our German, Scottish, and Irish heritage. Everything from the trees to placing candles in the windows comes from deep within our mountain kinship.

How many of you remember the multi-colored Christmas lights on the trees that were as large as walnuts and would get so hot after a time that they would burn you to touch them. Left on too long and the tree would be a fire hazard–but their warm glow was so pretty to see. My grandparents would place them on an outdoor tree as well, and nothing more than that one tree with red, blue, gold, and green lights was a happy sight in front of their house–especially when it had snow on it.

They had an old wooden creche set that they set up on a table in their formal living room every year and as children, we would love to play with the animals, shepherds, and wise men. An even older RCA phonograph would play Christmas music while the family would come in and the cooking of the meal began.

How many of you would go caroling in your neighborhood? My family was musical I have to admit. Each year when we visited my grandparents home they, with my parents and aunt and uncle, and of course the grandchildren would bundle up with hats, scarfs, and gloves and set out. We carried with us at least one old kerosene lantern to have as a light on our journey, and we would knock on the door and begin to sing old carols. There were no street lights to speak of and so through the dark and cold we would walk and sing. I don’t remember honestly, the years or reasons why we stopped doing this as a family. But it is a fond memory of mine.

Another tradition, of course, was making candy. My mother’s favorites were orange coconut balls and chocolate peanut butter balls. She took a great deal of time in melting the chocolate in a double boiler and then pour it over the peanut butter.  Our holidays like many of yours as well I’m sure, centered around food.

Going out to cut down the tree every year was a search and destroy mission of epic proportions. Trudging through the woods to find just the perfect tree. We would drag it back to the house and often did a little creative sculpting to make it fit or to make it stand up straight in the tree stand.

My aunt and author, Isabel Zuber wrote and published the following poem and our family has treasured it.  I am happy to share it with you here.

Making a Tree

Before they were business,

set in rows, fertilized, shaped to come out the same,

Only God and my father could make Christmas trees–and then it took a joint effort.

Those days the ground was plump underfoot, smelled of leafmold; secrets, luck.

He took his gun so we knew he hoped to find more than pine-

in our invasion of creek bottoms, march over fields of second growth, taking of a gullied hillside.

We craved monsters, my sister and I, those three times our height,

that never would have gone through the door, much less stood up under the ceiling.

But he’d choose one scrawny, perhaps with a bad side, tell our disappointment, wait.

On the back porch where he could chew, spit in peace,

he notched, sliced, telescoped, and re-arranged–an act of creation if there ever was one.

At last–full, bushy, tied top to bottom with fishing line–the tree was ready to be admitted indoors.

That’s that, he said, and spat and saw that it was good.

We would also have mistletoe hung in doorways, and I remember in the 1970s we had “fake mistletoe” in what was known as a “kissing ball.” I drove through the countryside and saw large clumps of mistletoe hanging high in the trees, and it brought back some sweet memories.

What are some of your favorite Christmas memories or traditions? Do you continue them today? Please feel free to share, and perhaps we’ll keep a little bit of that holiday magic going as we go deeper into winter.