Renew Your Christmas Beliefs by Ginger Simpson

Laura Indalls Wilder has long been a favorite author, and it's always scenes from her books that I harken back to...scenes that swept me away to another time and place when I engrossed myself in her stories back in elementary school. I especially loved reading how much Christmas was anticipated...no matter how meager because coming from a family of four children with one working parent, I learned early-on that we couldn't be greedy.

Ms. Wilder wrote of her mother's preparation for the holiday on the prairie.  "Ma was busy all day long, cooking good things for Christmas". While Christmas in the cities often included trees, decorations, Santa, gifts, and cards, pioneers often faced heavy snow storms and miles dividing them from civilization.  Most gifts were hand made, as were decorations and adornments when things could be found to serve that purpose. Food was usually the traditional way to celebrate when money and mercantiles were scarce.   Trail hands, often miles from home and loved ones, probably recognized the day, but did little to celebrate.  Such was the fate of those who braved the wilderness.

Today, we may wander to a tree farm and actually cut down a real tree, but most of us have turned to artificial for the convenience.  While Ma Ingalls may have cooked all day, many of us now purchase ready-made meals from the nearby market, and very little thought or appreciation go into gifts.  Commercialization has stolen the real meaning of our holiday. 

My siblings had the best idea of all when a few years back they pooled their money, visited the dollar store and prepared gift bags for the homeless.  I wasn't there, but I can only imagine that handing them out renewed faith in family,giving, receiving, and love.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all did that this Christmas?  Wishing you all a renewed knowledge of what Christmas is all about.

Re-run for Christmas by Ginger Simpson

Back in 2011, I posted this for Christmas.  I thought I'd reshare it with you:

This is the start to a story I might write, while I picture a pioneering young miss, anticipating a visit from Santa:

Wiping the mist from the window, Sally O’Dell strained to see through the blizzard’s white wall. The barn, only a short distance from the front door, had disappeared in the barrage of snow. The footprints Pa had left only minutes before no longer showed.  Though the house smelled of pine needles and cinnamon, she worried that Christmas’ most important guest, Santa, wouldn’t be able to find her in the storm.  A chill seeped around the recently installed glass and peppered her arms with goosebumps.

Sally closed the splintery shutters,  rubbed her forearms and turned to her mother, who straightened from the cast-iron stove, holding a browned apple pie.  “Momma, are you sure Santa can fly in this weather?”

“Don’t fret, Sally, you’ll cause wrinkles in that pretty little ten-year-old face of yorn.” Eliza O’Dell placed her pie with the other’s she’d baked in the stove she’d received as a gift last year and smiled.  “Santa can do anything.”  She swiped her hands down her apron, walked to the fireplace, and straightened the stockings hanging there.  "Be a darlin' and climb up to the loft and check to see if your sister's awake." ©gingersimpson

Now that I've given you a starting place, think what it must have been like, surviving inclimate weather in a house built by your father's hands and limited resources,  having to give or receive handmade gifts, and not having a grocery handy for all the fixings needed for Christmas dinner.  Most pioneers lacked money for frivolities, and the nearest 'mercantile' might be a several day's ride away from the homestead. While pennies today don't seem like much, they were most important back then.

Pioneer folks were definitely trendsetters.  They couldn't just trot off to a local tree farm or rely on an articifical one, they either cut their own, if they had room, or relied on Mother Nature and her pinecones, holly berries, or mere sprigs of greenery to make their homes festive.  Any decorations were handmade.  Paper chains and angels, and for those lucky enough to have popcorn, strands strung together to form a unique garland adorned the tree. In a few movies, I've even seen small candles adhered to branches to light the evergreen, but I imagine that would give today's fire marshal the shivers.  :)

Fresh game killed by Pa usually topped the holiday fare, with pies, homemade bread and canned vegetables supplied by Momma.  A favorite of the children was Plum Pudding although it originated in jolly old England.  I've never had it, but I understand making it takes some time, talent and special ingredients.

Any toys received were almost always hand-carved or built by Pa, while knitted scarves, mittens, hats and stockings  Momma contributed were not only necessary but welcomed.  Imagine getting a corn-husk doll. No walking, talking or diaper wetting babydolls to be had in the 1800s.  Gifts children presented to their parents were limited only by supplies and their own imaginations.

I picture a family gathered in their log cabin, around a roaring fire, enjoying the story telling of Christ's birth as read from the family Bible by Pa.  Of course, Michael Landon is Pa and he's married to Caroline Ingalls, and Mary, Laura and Baby Grace are nearby.  Okay...so I watched too much Little House on the Prairie, but if I can impact someone's life the way that series has mine, then I'm happy to trudge along in the path set by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her amazing stories.  I wish for each of you the happiness of a prairie Christmas. How do you picture your Christmas set in the old west?

The Spirit of Christmas

The Spirit of Christmas 

by Christina Cole

Christmas is always a special time, both in my own life and in the lives of the characters I create. The holiday season plays a role in my newest western historical romance, due out from Secret Cravings Publishing in January, so it was important for me to do a little research to learn how Christmas was celebrated in the past.

I found that by the mid-1800s, Christmas traditions in America were very similar to those we know today. They included brightly-decorated trees, the exchange of cards and gifts, caroling, lots of festive foods, visits from Santa Claus, stockings hung by the fireplace, and many religious celebrations.

Of course, farther west, in rural areas and sparsely-populated villages, celebrations were sometimes quite humble. Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote of  receiving precious gifts: a tin cup, a shiny new penny, a heart-shaped cake, and a peppermint candy. In the west, many gifts were homemade, and wintry weather often interfered with holiday plans, but despite the hardships of life on the prairie on in rough, unsettled territories, the spirit of Christmas lived on. 

Several years ago, my family and I visited the National Frontier Trails Museum in Independence, Missouri for their annual Christmas celebration. In addition to visiting with and hearing stories from Laura Ingalls Wilder (through the talents of a gifted re-enactor) , we toured the old railroad depot. This brought back a wealth of memories for me. Many of you know I lived with my grandfather while growing up. He was a railroad telegrapher, and touring this depot was like stepping back into my childhood.

Upstairs, where the agent and his family lived, the table was set for a festive Christmas meal.

In the old west, tables probably weren't this ornately set, but I cherish this image. To me, it somehow exemplifies the beauty of the holiday season and the importance of home and family. I had this vision in mind as I wrote about Emily Sue Phillips on Christmas Eve.

As a little gift to readers, I'm now sharing two short Christmas excerpts from the story, He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not.  I hope you enjoy them.

In this excerpt, Emily Sue reflects upon Christmas, childhood, home and family. 

Each year on Christmas Eve, the Phillips family gathered in the parlor at sunset for a festive celebration. Emily loved Christmas. When she’d been a child, the holiday always meant gaily-wrapped presents beneath the tree, Mama’s holiday cakes and pies, sweet cinnamon candies and peppermints, and fresh oranges tucked inside stockings hung on the fireplace mantel. Once upon a time, she’d actually believed in Santa Claus. In fact, she’d believed in the jolly, bewhiskered fellow for a good many years. She wished now she could go back to those childhood days, those simpler times when she could make wishes and, as often as not, they came true. Of course, she knew now that it was Pa, not Father Christmas, St. Nicholas, or any other legendary figure who brought the gifts she cherished.
     Earlier that morning, Kat's husband had cut down a lovely spruce tree and brought it to the house. Emily and Mama had worked together for most of the afternoon, adding ornaments, bows, tinsel, and tapers, but then Mama had been called away. The Sherwood family was about to get a brand new baby for Christmas. Soon after she left, a heavy snow began to fall. Mama would not be able to make it home until the weather cleared.

Alone now, Emily lit the candles one by one, reflecting on how many things had changed over the years. Kat now celebrated Christmas Eve in her own home with her husband and children. Mama did very little holiday cooking and baking these days since she was usually too busy attending to her midwifery or caring for Pa. His days were numbered; he wouldn't be with them forever. Each year when Christmas came around, Emily wondered if this might be their last together. The thought brought a tear to her eye. For all his faults -- and her father had many -- she loved him dearly.

With the candles glowing brightly, she stepped back to gaze upon the magnificent sight. The sweet scent of pine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of hot spiced cider and frothy cocoa. For a moment, her spirits lifted. Christmas possessed a special magic.

In this excerpt, Emily Sue receives a visit from Benjamin, the young man she loves. They've been through some difficult times in their relationship in recent weeks.He has brought a gift wrapped in butcher's paper and tied with a coarse jute string. 

"Why are you here? Why are you doing this?"

"It's Christmas. I'm giving you a gift. That's what Christmas is all about."

"Not really, but I won't quibble over theology. My point," she said, her voice growing cooler with each word, "is that you've made it clear you don't want anything to do with me. Of course, then you do an about-face and tell me how much I mean to you, but in the next breath, you're sending me away again. You've got me so confused, I don't know what to think."

"I'm sorry. I know I've put you through a lot over the last few weeks."

"And this is supposed to make up for it?" She took the gift he held out. Its szie and shape alone, plus its weight in her hand, clearly made known its contents. She turned toward the tall spruce with its glittering tapers and shimmering tinsel and slipped the crudely-wrapped present beneath the fragrant pine branches. Next to the other gifts, Ben's contribution looked woefully out of place.

"You're not going to open it?"

"I can't. It's not Christmas yet," she explained. "My father won't allow us to open even a single gift until Christmas morning."

"Are you sure you can't make an exception?"

"Sorry, Ben. No exceptions."

A crestfallen expression showed on his face. "I hoped to be here when you unwrapped it. I wanted to know if you liked it."

"I'm sure I will," she said in quiet voice. She would cherish anything Ben gave her.

But her reply did not appease him. He huffed out a short breath. "How can you say that? You don't even know what it is."

Emily rolled her eyes. "It's a book, Ben. It's not like it's any great mystery." Lifting the present again, she hefted it up. "I appreciate it, all right?" For the life of her she couldn't understand why she was acting like such a spoiled brat. Too many emotions were vying for control.

“I swear, you’re impossible.” Ben nodded toward the tree as she placed the present beneath it once more. “Fine,” he said. “There’s your gift. Yes, it’s a book. A book of poetry, to be precise. It’s nothing terribly fancy. I got it from old Asa Taylor at the mercantile. I hope you enjoy it.” He turned and walked away. “Merry Christmas,” he added in a gruff voice.

     Although Christmas may not be so merry for Emily Sue Phillips and Benjamin Brooks, I sincerely hope your holiday is filled with warm wishes, true love, and the joy of family and friends. It is a special time of year. Enjoy! 

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not 

Coming in January 2015

Secret Cravings Publishing

For more information, visit Chistina Cole's Love Notes on Facebook.

Happy Fourth of July!

I always am amazed by people who can’t recognize portraits of recent presidents like Richard Nixon, much less answer questions about American history. Many people ought to know why we celebrate the 4^th of July. On that day in 1776, that members of the Second Continental Congress met in Philadelphia to adopt and sign the final draft of the Declaration of Independence. Some famous words from it: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

 John Adams wrote to his wife Abigail, saying, "I believe that (the 4^th) will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be celebrated by pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other..."

The following year in 1777, Philadelphia remembered the day by ringing bells, firing guns, lighting candles and setting off firecrackers. However, the War of Independence continued until Oct. 19, 1781 when Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown. Most Fourth of July celebrations were modest, since American farmers suffered hardships until after the Americans again defeated the British in the War of 1812.

And then came the Civil War. Brother against brother, North against South. The Fourth of July figured big too – Robert E. Lee took his army into Pennsylvania in late June of 1863, hoping to wake up the North to the sufferings of his Southern people where most of the battles took place.  Within a few days they met Union forces near Gettysburg. Three days of intensive fighting, and the bloodiest battle ever fought in America – but on July 4^th, Lee was forced to retreat.

But don’t forget the “west” – Vicksburg, Mississippi. Admiral David Farragut’s fleet fought to free the Mississippi for the Union from St. Louis to the Gulf of Mexico. Vicksburg held out, due to the high bluffs that protected the city. But General Ulysses S. Grant’s siege from May 19^th bombarded the city from all sides. People escaped to caves, but the city was forced to surrender on the 4^th of July, 1863. Vicksburg citizens banned celebrating the holiday for years.

In Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series, she recalled political officials who read the entire Declaration of Independence. This happened in cities and small towns across America, because many people had a rudimentary education, if any. By 1940, only half of the U.S. population had completed an eighth grade education. HALF – only up to the 8^th grade! Consider the immigrants, the blacks who were discouraged from getting an education, and the rural areas with one-room schools and farming needs for family labor. Things have certainly improved in the last 70 years!

The Declaration of Independence is still read in cities and towns today. Speeches, military events, parades, and fireworks make the day special. The government was rather late in declaring it a federal holiday – Congress finally passed the bill in 1941. 

Since then, summer fun on the Fourth of July includes fireworks displays, parades and historical pageants, baseball, sun-bathing on the beach and swimming. The Boston Pops Orchestra always holds a concert on the Charles River bank, with John Philip Sousa marches and music by other American composers before ending with Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture that includes cannons and fireworks. Many locals watch on television, because the traffic is horrendous! The Lititz, Pennsylvania, candle festival, the longest continuous celebration of July 4th since 1813, has hundreds of candles floating in water and a contest to choose a "Queen of Candles.” Annapolis, Maryland, shuts down the streets after 3 p.m. for walkers, with fireworks at dusk over the U.S. Naval Academy, and restaurants staying open late.

Out west, an American Indian rodeo and three-day pow-wow used to take place in Flagstaff, Arizona, for fifty years until 1981. Nowadays, several groups hold pow-wows around July 4th in Massachusetts, New York, Missouri and Oklahoma.In Texas, according to one friend, unlicensed fireworks end up with a trip to the emergency room. It happens in Michigan, too, and across the country. Fireworks are best left to the professionals. But people across the country head to the nearest park, lake or beach to watch fireworks.

I’d be amiss not to mention Detroit’s late June “International Freedom Festival” in conjunction with Canada. They celebrate the July 1^st date when their provinces joined together in 1867 under the British Empire. Three barges shoot fireworks on the Detroit River near the Renaissance Center, and people pack Belle Isle and the downtown streets of Detroit and Windsor to watch.

The 4th is always a great picnic day. The usual foods are burgers and dogs, chicken and ribs on the grill, cole slaw grilled or boiled corn on the cob, tossed salad, fruit salad, baked beans and potato salad, deviled eggs, apple pie, watermelon, strawberry shortcake and ice cream.

But don't forget the regional flavors that grilling can make adventurous!

Clambakes with clams, mussels, Maryland blue crabs, lobsters, oysters and smelt on the east coast… Grilled kielbasa, Italian sausage, bratwurst and S’Mores in the Midwest… Fried chicken, boiled crawfish, pulled pork, fry pies in the South…Pit-roasted pig, Jamaican ribs, tamales and grilled gator in Florida… 

Grilled gator?? Yep!

Bacon-wrapped jalapenos (ratas) or cream-cheese stuffed green chiles, smoked brisket, pork loin or turkey, buffalo burgers in the west… Sushi or grilled salmon on the Pacific coast…  It all adds up to YUM!

ENJOY your Fourth of July, whatever you have grilling on the "barbie" (heh heh, a touch of Aussie there), and remember to stay safe when handling fireworks of any kind. Even sparklers can cause serious burns.

If you drink, please use a designated driver.

However you celebrate, Happy Independence Day! And remember – America is worth celebrating!!

Christmas on the Prairie

An image borrowed from a pioneer plate

I've always loved Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and she had a unique way of describing Christmas through the eyes of a young girl.  The holiday in the 1800s was nothing like the one we celebrate today, but the excitement children felt back then was equally as exhilarating.

This is the start to a story I might write, while I picture a pioneering young miss, anticipating a visit from Santa:
 

Wiping the mist from the window, Sally O’Dell strained to see through the blizzard’s white wall. The barn, only a short distance from the front door, had disappeared in the barrage of snow. The footprints Pa had left only minutes before no longer showed.  Though the house smelled of pine needles and cinnamon, she worried that Christmas’ most important guest, Santa, wouldn’t be able to find her in the storm.  A chill seeped around the recently installed glass and peppered her arms with goosebumps.

Sally closed the splintery shutters,  rubbed her forearms and turned to her mother, who straightened from the cast-iron stove, holding a browned apple pie.  “Momma, are you sure Santa can fly in this weather?”

“Don’t fret, Sally, you’ll cause wrinkles in that pretty little ten-year-old face of yorn.” Eliza O’Dell placed her pie with the other’s she’d baked in the stove she’d received as a gift last year and smiled.  “Santa can do anything.”  She swiped her hands down her apron, walked to the fireplace, and straightened the stockings hanging there.  "Be a darlin' and climb up to the loft and check to see if your sister's awake." ©gingersimpson

Now that I've given you a starting place, think what it must have been like, surviving inclimate weather in a house built by your father's hands and limited resources,  having to give or receive handmade gifts, and not having a grocery handy for all the fixings needed for Christmas dinner.  Most pioneers lacked money for frivolities, and the nearest 'mercantile' might be a several day's ride away from the homestead. While pennies today don't seem like much, they were most important back then.

Pioneer folks were definitely trendsetters.  They couldn't just trot off to a local tree farm or rely on an articifical one, they either cut their own, if they had room, or relied on Mother Nature and her pinecones, holly berries, or mere sprigs of greenery to make their homes festive.  Any decorations were handmade.  Paper chains and angels, and for those lucky enough to have popcorn, strands strung together to form a unique garland adorned the tree. In a few movies, I've even seen small candles adhered to branches to light the evergreen, but I imagine that would give today's fire marshal the shivers.  :)

Fresh game killed by Pa usually topped the holiday fare, with pies, homemade bread and canned vegetables supplied by Momma.  A favorite of the children was Plum Pudding although it originated in jolly old England.  I've never had it, but I understand making it takes some time, talent and special ingredients.

Any toys received were almost always hand-carved or built by Pa, while knitted scarves, mittens, hats and stockings  Momma contributed were not only necessary but welcomed.  Imagine getting a corn-husk doll. No walking, talking or diaper wetting babydolls to be had in the 1800s.  Gifts children presented to their parents were limited only by supplies and their own imaginations.

I picture a family gathered in their log cabin, around a roaring fire, enjoying the story telling of Christ's birth as read from the family Bible by Pa.  Of course, Michael Landon is Pa and he's married to Caroline Ingalls, and Mary, Laura and Baby Grace are nearby.  Okay...so I watched too much Little House on the Prairie, but if I can impact someone's life the way that series has mine, then I'm happy to trudge along in the path set by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her amazing stories.  I wish for each of you the happiness of a prairie Christmas. How do you picture your Christmas set in the old west?