Rural home had Christmas magic

Rekindling a childhood tradition, I recently searched the High Plains countryside for a Christmas tree.

Any kind of trees were rare, and when I finally spotted evergreens, they were under tents in parking lots.

So, I will be content with memories of east Texas.

Risking frostbite, angry bulls and hunters’ stray bullets — or intentional ones from property owners — I would ride in our pickup with my father or three older brothers to pick the perfect tree from millions of east Texas evergreens.

After bringing the ceiling-tall prize home, our modest country house emanated pine perfume throughout the holidays.

Mother had us seven children (my parents raised my niece Carol as their third daughter) bring down boxes of decorations from the attic.

Through her alchemy — including singing hymns while decorating inside and wrapping twinkling lights around outside evergreens — Mother transformed our rural homestead into a magical wonderland awaiting Santa Claus.

With the only other gifts being bestowed on my April birthday, waiting for him was agonizing.

At age 5, I just missed Santa. After hearing “ho-ho-ho” in the living room, I ran in from the boys’ bedroom and my brothers reported seeing Santa fly off in his reindeer-pulled sleigh.

Barefooted, I rushed outside on the frosty grass — catching a silhouetted glimpse of his sleigh disappearing over the horizon.

Santa left me a molded-plastic Army set I had admired in a five-and-dime.

With the canteen full of hot chocolate and wearing the green combat helmet, I carried the infantry rifle/bayonet to hunt squirrels with my dad. Although I was unsuccessful, Daddy got some for the stew Mother was making for supper.

My earliest and best memory was Christmas morning before my third birthday in my birth town of Midland, Texas.

Worried Santa couldn’t get in without a chimney, my parents explained they would leave a window open.

Waking up in early dawn, I was hypnotized by a bag of multi-colored candy — illuminated by a small gas heater — sitting on my new red tricycle.

To this day, I am indebted to my parents for encouraging me to be a good boy whom Santa never forgets.

Contact Wendel Sloan at [email protected]