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RAN a OE
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Christmastime
in Rusty Springs
Well, it’s Christmastime in Rusty
Springs, my hometown.
A lot of things have changed here
since my childhood. Of course that was
a half a century ago, so I would expect
things to be a little
different. Percy Stan-
field doesn’t sell
Studebakers here any-
more, for one. And
the grade school’s
_ been closed, consoli-
dated, and eventually
. de-constructed.
Like everything
else, Christmas is a
whole lot different in
2009 than it was in 1959. Peeking back
at Christmases past, here are some ver-
bal snapshots from my childhood in
Rusty Springs...
Old Maids
Not the card game. Tressie and
Mabel Whitkanack. Tressie and Mabel
(always goes together like peanut butter
’n jelly, grits 'n eggs, RC 'n Moon Pie)
were the two younger sisters of my
great-grandpa Whitkanack. They not
only never married, I never saw them
separated.
By any grade schooler’s account
they were not only old, they were an-
cient. Actually when I was about seven
or eight, they were probably no more
than 70 but I pegged them at about 105
in “kid years”.
Tressie and Mabel figured into our
lives twice a year. They hosted a family
reunion on Memorial Day with proba-
bly 75 to 100 of us gathered on their
lawn eating everything from fresh
strawberries to fried chicken to apple
pie.
The other time was at Christmas.
Actually about two weeks before
Christmas. That’s when the season
began for us. That weekend included a
trek into the woods to find the right
Christmas tree and wound up at Tressie
and Mabel’s house Sunday evening.
We then took about a quarter mile
walk in the cold, still night to the Dar-
win Methodist Church, where my
Uncle Bert began his preaching career.
That Sunday evening was the begin-
ning of Christmas every year.
It was a little clapboard sided
church, no more than 30 feet wide and
#0 or so feet long. A yellowish light
shined out through four windows on
each side of the single room. A tin roof
kept off the snow. The old oak floor-
boards had been worn smooth, not by a
machine but by decades of sturdy
leather-soled shoes. One pot-bellied
stove provided what little heat there
was, it’s metal sides glowing red hot.
People standing close to the fire
warmed quickly on one side, but the
cold clung to the other. A bucket stood
beside it, full of the coal we all hoped
wouldn’t be in out stocking come
: Christmas morning. The pews were ash
benches with backs. There were no
cushions. No comfort for a congrega-
tion of rugged people not really used to
any.
Uncle Bert wasn’t the fire and brim-
stone kind of preacher from TV. He just
told us honestly and plainly how it was
on that first Christmas. And we were no
Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but we
filled the clear, cold night with old
Christmas hymns. And, of course, all
us kids acted out the Christmas story in
front of proud and long-suffering par-
ents. My cousin Penny's doll always
got to be baby Jesus, even if its name
was Annie. I guess being the preacher’s
daughter had its perks.
And no sooner than the final
“Amen” rang out, we’d hear a hearty
“Ho, Ho, Ho” booming from-the front
steps. The door would swing open and
Santa would stomp in with his big bag.
It always held an orange and a bag of
candy for every kid there (Uncle Bert’s
other job was driving the Curtis Candy
truck delivering candy to rural stores).
And it always held just enough so that
every good boy and girl had some. Of
course there were no “bad” boys and
girls there that night.
Then there was the cold walk back
to Tressie and Mable’s. The moon,
hung high in the sky, had its light am-
plified by a blanket of snow. It was so
quiet the crunching of footsteps on
crusty snow almost echoed. It was
amazing how much colder it could get
in just an hour or so that time of the
night. But we enjoyed a hot fire and
some hot cocoa with a couple of
marshmallows melting away before we
piled in the car and slept while Dad
drove home.
Ron Isbell
Publisher
Grandpa Santa
I barely remember when my
Grandpa had both his arms. He lost one
in a fight with a corn picker before I
started school.
Why none of us grandkids couldn’t
identify Santa every Christmas Eve is, I
guess, one of the miracles of the sea-
son.
See RUSTY SPRINGS on Page 2B
The Kings Mountain Herald
Dear Editor,
I wanted to know if
their is a Santa
i In the hearts and on the faces all set a-glow
: i is everywhere at once and yet nowhere at a
But in the hearts'and in the minds of people big and small
: Most of all I hoped they wouldn't tell. dh > “big guy” so.
| -Emily Weaver
]
they see. They think that nothing can’ |
Our own Virgina asks,
‘Is ®anta real?
Claus? My friends Thanks for your
say he is fake but tell time.
me the truth please. Virginia Dellinger
Dear Virginia,
If there was no Santa I'd surely tell you so
But to repeat such a lie would strike quite a blow
Every. time we hear his trademark laugh, “Ho, ho ho!”
eyes tight scared
ls ‘If they know that T I'm awake then Christmas will not come
‘And how sad would that be with no presents to and from.’
1 prayed they hadn’t seen me wake, I hoped they didn’t know
But Christmas still came that morning z as it | had betore. Pan
Though no one believed those elves I encountered at. my door
Somehow old Santa didn’t hear that I had seen their faces
There is still a little magic to be found in the strangest places
*
The magic Ties in 1 loving others and showing them you care
And Christmas without Santa is like a garden with no air
Yes Virginia, you have my: word, there is a Santa Claus
To once again repeat that truth gives me ‘no moment’s pause
You may not see him coming down your chimney with care
But I promise, come Christmas morning, he will have been there
And all of the faces of the ones you love and who love you
Will be right there to laugh and be in wonderment. It’s true!
Editor, Kings Mountain Herald
and joy. Alas! how dreary would be ;
the world if there were no Santa ceive or imagine all the wonders't |
Claus. It would be as dreary as if are unseen and unseeable in the
there were no VIRGINIAS. There world.
they. are not there. Nobody can co
. Yon may t tear apart the baby’ srat-
tle and see what makes the noise in-
side, but there is a veil covering the
unseen world ‘which no
_ man, nor eve | the'uni
: » YC
ha 1 hey. have been al edb
skepticism of : a 1 skeptics 1 ag
be which is not. Spnaeensibly by
might as well not believe i in fairies!
~ You might get your papa to hire men
to watch in all the chimneys on ital
~ Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, wi
but. even if ‘they did not see Santa ab
Claus coming down, what would that Ne
- prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but li
thats no sign that there is no Santa
Su Claus! The most real things in the
world are those that neither children
‘nor men can see. Did you ever see
fairies dancing on the lawn? Of
Ni course os, but that's no proof that 3
; i SR
PN ENE,