We lived in a small town of Foleyet and we always had a white Christmas as far as I can remember.
There was a farmer in town who raised cows for beef, and my father had ordered two roasts and other meat products to be delivered on Christmas Eve at our house.
I was about eight years old then, when I heard the sleigh bells outside. It was the farmer coming in a real sleigh, pulled by two horses. After his visit, he and his wife would go across the road to attend midnight mass. This was a real thrill to us kids.
There was a man who had a trap line, and he had a lot of dogs that pulled his sled. He was thoughtful enough to go past the school yard while we were at recess, so we all ran to the fence to see the dogs pull the sled and the trapper would wave at us.
I'm old enough to have seen all this and to remember a good childhood.
I also remember the day when my dad came home Christmas Eve, his hat was crooked on his head and he was happy after a few drinks (I think). He called to mom, “Emma, here's your turkey.”
In those days, the turkeys were not frozen. He hung it up in the archway on a hook that my mom used to hang the baby swing.
We were four sisters, and we started to dance around the turkey, touching his outstretched wings as we sang Jingle Bells.
My mother wasn't laughing, as my dad told her he had invited his boss and his wife to Christmas dinner.
That was 1950, I think.
A merry Christmas to all and a Happy New Year.