The Christmas Farm

There’s a certain order to things…and one would be wise not to deviate.

For instance, there’s an unwritten rule in our family…whenever you marry (and if you live in Texas), you alternate holiday dates with your spouse’s family.

It’s only fair.

So from a very young age I learned this rule…which meant every other year we would spend Christmas at my grandparent’s farm in West Texas.

To give you a little geographic perspective…the farm is near a small, dusty town called Petersburg (which has a population of about 3 ½ people) and about thirty minutes or so northeast from Lubbock on one side and south of Plainview on the other.

I guess it’s in the middle of nowhere.

However, we would load up our large car with already wrapped packages (bows to be added on arrival) and head west.

The drive was about 7 or so hours, and I could go on a bit just on my recollections of trying to sleep or share space with my sister in what seemed a small (but by today’s standards was actually quite large) back seat…and about how our mother had to designate a no-man’s land in between us with her rectangular, beige, hard-sided overnight case to keep the peace…but I’ll stop there.

Yet we always knew when we were getting close to the farm because we could see the trees from far, far away in the mainly low-level landscape.  One was an enormous twenty-five foot pine, and another was a beautiful blue spruce of about fifteen feet.

When we were young, we would drive up to the sight of the huge pine lit with Christmas lights because my grandfather would climb into it to string them up…but as we grew older and my grandfather grew older, we would arrive to unlit trees in the yard.  Although my grandmother always made sure there was a smaller version inside the house situated perfectly in the pristine picture window (no smudges allowed).

Of course, my boy cousins took over the tree lighting as the years passed by, so it still happened…and really…it’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen, that tree…because you could see those lights for miles.  And maybe the lack of close neighbors with their own decorations made the first sight of those precious sparks so poignant…because when every house is close and bedecked…after awhile we no longer notice…the adornment possibly becomes commonplace.

But when it’s one or two in a place where it’s a miracle the trees have dared to grow to such heights…it makes an impact which can’t be taken away to this day.

It says something.

The Tree

 

Jim, Lisa and I decorate one of the smaller trees

Comments

[Laura A.]

I'm sorry, jp. I've rechecked the blog settings, and it shouldn't be a problem. "Aaaargh!" cries Charlie Brown. Thanks for trying.

[jp]

I tried to post that comment again but to no avail. Oh well . . .

[Laura A.]

Absolutely, Jim! That's just one of the many stories I've been thinking over lately. It still makes me smile to think about that episode. :)

[Jim Porterfield]

Do you remember you, Lisa, your mom, and me, looking at Christmas lights in the might metropolis of Petersburg and singing "Feliz Navidad" until we drove your mom crazy? It was Christmas 1976 or 77.

[Laura A.]

You're very right, Marie! We've made many wonderful ones with you and Al. Thanks for the compliment and for reading! :)

[Marie]

Very heart warming!!So nice to have family memories! They last a lifetime to give joy to us especially the Christmas ones.

[Laura A.]

Thanks for reading and posting a comment, sweet Melissa! :)

[Melissa Studdard]

Sounds heavenly!