“To Grandmother’s house we go. The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifted snow.”
I remember when we lived in Richmond, Illinois; after Christmas Eve church service, we would pile into Mom and Dad’s Chevrolet Malibu, full with three kids in the back seat – my sister wasn't born yet – bundled in coats, with gifts and loads of excitement, and travel to my grandparents' farm on North Queen Anne Road near Woodstock, Illinois.
The much-traveled route would take us by snow-covered fields, over a river – Nippersink Creek and through some starry, moonlit woods – we’d be singing and laughing all the way.
Once there, we’d bound into the farmhouse to welcoming arms – Grandma and Grandpa, our aunt (my mom’s sister) and uncle and two cousins. While the final meal preparations were made, it was time to play upstairs – hide and seek, dress up or to marvel at Grandma’s jar of antique marbles. I still have that jar of marbles.
Downstairs, the table was being set along with catch-up conversation. We knew the rhythm: play until called, then race down the stairs to squeeze in at the kids’ table and say words of grace – Amen.
Grandma always prepared a delicious ham, studded with buttons of cloves, served alongside mashed potatoes and gravy, frozen cranberry (or bean bums, as my brother would say) salad, homemade rolls with butter and green beans. For dessert, there was everyone’s favorite pie – pecan for my dad and brother, pumpkin with a mountain of whipped cream for my other brother, apple and cherry – and every kind of Christmas cookie you could imagine. One of our great-aunts always sent a box of homemade divinity candy – its cloud-like sugar shared and savored by all. The adults would toast to the season with a glass of Mogen David wine, and our uncle would enjoy a beer or two, most likely Old Milwaukee.
After dinner, while the table was cleared and dishes clinked in the kitchen, the cousins would race upstairs to resume play. Then we’d gather around Grandma’s silver artificial tree, its branches gleaming with teal blue ornaments – I still have these, too – and the soft glow of Christmas lights. Beneath it was a bounty of carefully chosen gifts – thoughtful, generous and most likely from Farm and Fleet’s Toyland, the Montgomery Ward Christmas Catalog or Sears Wish Book. Each package held a promise of delight, wrapped in Grandma and Grandpa’s love and resourcefulness.
Close to midnight, with sleepy eyes, we’d get back into the car and travel back to our farm in Richmond … over the river (creek) and through the woods …
I still cherish the stillness of our candlelight Christmas Eve service – the hush in the chapel, the flicker of candles, the voices lifted in song. I think back to those late-night drives to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, bundled in coats and anticipation, hearts full of love for family and the joy of the Advent season. We arrived with gratitude, celebrating not just the birth of Christ but the faith that bound us together across generations.
May your holidays be peaceful and your new year full of promise – in the field and beyond.
