Christmas Traditions

Childhood Christmases

It probably sounds odd and strange when I say that Christmas for me had little to do with Santa Clause. Honestly I don't know what my parents believed about Santa Clause or whether they 'played' Santa for my three older brothers or not.  All I know is that they were totally unconnected to doing the Santa Clause thing when I came along. I think I remember them doing the part about him coming in the night and leaving a present, but it was not a matter of excitement to them or me, and neither was it used to get me to behave.  Perhaps they had done these things for my brothers and were tired of the idea by the time I came along. The few times they mentioned Santa were tied to their bedroom and some small gifts that Santa had 'maybe left for me.' These gifts were not under a tree nor were they wrapped. I remember trying to act like I liked these items from Santa.  It was a truly awkward moment for me because I did not know what to say or how to act.

Likewise, Herman had parents who did not do 'the Santa thing' and at a very early age  told him that Santa was just your Mom and Dad.  I think their belief was that the focus of Christmas was a religious thing and not about a fictitious person name Santa Clause. What strikes me as odd now is how Herman and I DID do Santa for our boys until they were 8 or so.  While I'm not sure now how we came around to deciding to play Santa, I guess we thought it was easier to go along with the crowd.

For me I cannot imagine Christmas without aunts, uncles, cousins, and random guests who showed up at our house on the big day.  For us Christmas was a big family party that had a few gifts, but the focus was more on enjoying each other's company, sharing a meal and telling funny stories about family members.  Food WAS a big deal at our house for Christmas.  Mama always had fresh pork tenderloin, sausage and ham. We had frozen and canned vegetables from her summer garden and the stack cake desserts were what everyone raved about. In my early adolescence I got introduced to German Chocolate Cake and from that point on I made one each Christmas for our family.  It became 'my' signature Christmas dessert.  I have always preferred to cook desserts over vegetables , meats or salads so after I learned to make German Chocolates cakes it became my specialty.  

Old Men, Beer and Rota Tillers

Growing up, Mama rarely referred to the topic of alcohol and drinking, but when she did she clearly communicated her disdain for the substance and for those who drank.  This was only one of her taboos; the other was card playing. From what Mama said I truly believed that none of my uncles or aunts drank socially or otherwise. I did however later learn that my three brothers socially drank which caused confusion for me since they had been reared in the same environment as me.  Eventually I worked out my conflicts on the issue and came to be a social drinker myself, but Mama never knew.

As I reached middle age I began to hear stories from my aunts and uncles that told about their drinking episodes.  By this time whether or not they drank was not my focus.  Instead I focused on the humor in each story.  I love each and every story and was fascinated with how little Mama knew. Apparently the family rule was that it didn't matter what you do as long as Mama never knew. 

Many years after Herman and I married we were visiting with Mama while several of these aunts and uncles were visiting.  By this time everyone on of these uncles were in their 70's and beyond.  On one particular day during this visit to the relatives the uncles were visiting with Uncle Rec and Aunt Fay in Sneedville.  Herman and I stopped by for a visit as well and were astonished to see all these elderly men in the backyard garden plowing with the rota-tiller. They all had their shirts off,  held a can of beer in one hand, and one hand on the tiller which was running at full speed dragging the uncle behind.  They were laughing, telling stories and doing what Mama would have called 'half-assed' plowing. It was a true 'Man Party' and they were milking it for all it was worth.

We were invited to join them and gladly did so because this was a show we needed to see. So many stories about their lives were shared.  For the first time I got to really know another side of my uncles. Surprisingly, Aunt Fay was busy nearby keeping the cooler filled with beer. She also was sharing stories about how other 'man' parties involving 'Duck' Hatfield who was Uncle Rec's frequent companion. Their time together apparently always involved alcohol and misbehavior which Mama seemed to know little about. Later on after Uncle Rec died, Aunt Fay revealed her love for beer and her nightly "Toddy".

Now as I approach the age of the uncles during this 'plowing' episode, I relish this story because finally I got to see my family in a more realistic way.  Unlike Mama's intolerance for alcohol and partying, I grew to see many sides of situations and people which has made me a more forgiving and tolerant person than Mama was.  I am  thankful for the many complexities of living and loving ourselves and others.

Summers At Our House

Summers at Our House

When I was growing up nothing ever seemed to change at my house. After Daddy died Mama began a rigid routine that she followed religiously for each of the four seasons. Summer was dedicated to growing a large garden, harvesting the fruits of this garden, and canning or freezing what was harvested along with doing the other daily chores of running a household. Each week we repeated the same activities of washing clothes, cooking three meals daily, canning beans, beets, berries, and making pickles or freezing corn, strawberries, beans, apples, mustard greens, and okra. Mama always appeared to be the happiest when she was following her routines which varied little.  All summer long she was busy preparing food for the winter months and doing other daily monotonous tasks.  Stability had become Mama's focus and my nemesis.

My focus, however, was to make each day different and creative. I hated these routines and sameness. I dreamed of daily variety; new foods, new chores, escape from chores, some rare new event; trips away from the farm; and new people. While Mama's theme was repeat, repeat, repeat; my focus was change, change, change. I rarely voiced discontent about the sameness because I knew from past efforts to make changes that nothing would change. I often felt trapped by our farm life.

My saving grace each summer from this daily monotony was weekend visits from uncles, aunts and cousins. Often they showed up unannounced and stayed as long as they wished because there was fresh cooked food, a tidy house, and listening ears, namely Mama, Daddy and me. Almost all of Mama's nine siblings were great humorists and storytellers.  Before Daddy's death at age 64, he was right in the middle of these storytelling episodes. He loved a good story. These stories were mostly about ourselves or people in our communities. Aside from some exaggeration of a fact or two all the stories were true, mostly focused on some mishap or embarrassment to the teller. Occasionally there was a story involving a stranger or friend of the family. These were stories that made us laugh at ourselves and our relatives, and they were never mean spirited.  At least once or twice in the summer a visiting cousin from Texas or out of state would join in these sessions. I basically grew up in the middle of humor stories.

  Many years have passed since the slide shows and the beginning of my adult life. I have kept my promise to myself to travel as much as I could to see the US and other countries. I am very pleased that I've been able to see what I have seen, but my list is still long. I know I will not get it all seen, but all that matters to me now is that I keep traveling until either my health, age, or both, became prohibitive. I guess I should thank my Mama for creating an environment that pushed me out of her safe routine world and into a larger world, but I don't think this was what she planned.

My Appalachian Summers

My favorite season has always been summer.  Most people from mountain areas usually say that fall is their favorite season because the trees take on a variety of colors following the first frost.  Everyone seems to want to see this annual transformation take place. For me, fall is the time of dying and death; the end of luscious green growth, and the hibernation of most plant life.  

But summer is the peak of all things green, growing, and alive. Life flows through every blade of grass, every flower, and each garden. It's the time when the earth is most alive no matter which part of our planet you happen to be on. Not only was our small farm alive with vegetation, the animals were birthing and breeding, and our house was bursting with things to do, relatives, neighbors, and activities.  It was these things that made daily life so special for me in the summer.  There was constant change and transition in daily activities.  I was never bored because every farm activity was another adventure; rarely were two days the same.

I often think of our house like Grand Central Station.  People came, went, stayed, worked, talked, napped, broke beans, and shucked corn, while telling stories under the big oak tree in our front yard. It was under this tree that I learned where I came from, who my relatives were, and all the local gossip.  We waved at people who passed in their cars and walked along the road.  Our house was "home" to all of Mama's and Daddy's relatives.

There was always work to be done but it rarely interfered with socializing.  It was in all these daily summer activities that I was groomed in storytelling, not that it was planned for Patsy to learn this skill, but it was just there to be absorbed like the temperature, and the culture around me. 

Recently my husband and I completed our book of memoirs.  This process took us both back in time and place.  We shared so many of the stories we knew from our childhood and our lives. This memoir was a visit back to people, places, events, and stories we felt we had to share with those who would come after us.  Our grandchildren are now quite young or unborn and may never know who we were, or get to hear our voices or stories, but perhaps this book and the stories contained within it will give them a picture of our lives, our values, and their link to us.  Oh, how I have wished I had known my grandparents personally and what their life was like and what their stories were.

Growing Up With Three Older Brothers

None of us get to choose the circumstances surrounding our birth.  None of us get to choose our parents or our siblings.  I was born when my parents were middle aged; Daddy was 50, Mama was 40, and I inherited three older brothers all of whom were in high school, specifically as a senior, a junior and a sophomore. I was the only girl; born fifteen years after the youngest son.  I often think how strange this must have felt to my adolescent brothers as they had to confront a pregnant Mom when sex was never discussed at our house and sex education occurred only in random settings, mostly with peers sharing with others information they individually knew.  Since my brothers were male I assume that they got more education on my topic of sex than I did because I feel certain my Dad would have talked with them.  Mom could not talk about the topic with her sisters so I know she could not have addressed the topic with her sons. She never addressed the topic  with me.   

I consider myself so fortunate to have had these three brothers in my life even though they were exiting our home during my first years of life. In some ways they were more like uncles because of their age, but I never felt them to be that distant because I was told they were my brothers, period. I was told by many relatives that each of these brothers adored me and invested a lot of time in my early years. Throughout my growing up years these brothers flowed in and out of my life as they entered college, went to serve their country, and then took jobs.  All three of them married later in life, after age 30, and each gave something of themselves to me from their own interests. I learned about medical school, factory supervision jobs, golf, football, and sales jobs of pharmaceutical representatives. I learned social skills from being around them when they conversed with friends and bosses. Each of them loved music a great deal.  The type of music differed due to their own exposure to different genres, but I learned music was an important piece of life.  They also taught me to dance and often showed me pictures of themselves with various dates at dances. They were each very fashion conscious and great conversationalists. 

Perhaps this involvement with my life was accidental and totally unplanned.  Perhaps it was just them being themselves without giving thought to what they were giving or sharing with me,  but I can't quite believe it was that simple and un-thought out.  Each of these brothers chose to accept the advice of aunts and uncles who told them to get a college education because it was very important to success in life. When it came to me, I believe all of it was intentional, planned and given to me because they had learned themselves that success in life depended on many factors, all equally important, and things that they had learned to master because they saw them as steps to acceptance and success.  Mama and Daddy had some of these skills but not enough to provide all the examples that we would need to become successful.  Today I marvel at all the amazing advantages they, my parents, and to some degree my sister-in-laws, were able to give me during mt growing up years with what appeared to be so little effort. 

This past week I attended the funeral of Howard, the oldest brother who was the pharmaceutical representative.  L C, the second brother, businessman and industrial-business expert, died several years back. Now only one brother survives; Charlie, the youngest, who became a medical doctor. With each new death I feel I am losing a piece of myself; a piece that is so genuinely precious to me. While I never remember expressing to any of them or any other aunt or uncle, the deep feelings I have for all they did and gave to me as the youngest sibling I feel a sudden need to declare publically what a privileged life I have been given by so many people.  How did I get so lucky in life to be born into a family who seemed to give me all they knew to help me find my path.  How did I get this wealth of siblings, parents, uncles and aunts who stood by me throughout my childhood and adulthood to see that I found my own path to success?  I now know in a very deep way how blessed my life has been to have had my own teaching and cheering squad who gave me all they had to make things easier for me.  Maybe this is what we all are supposed to give to our family members.  

A Visit To My Appalachian Roots

This past weekend my husband and I joined our son and daughter-in-law in Ashville, NC for an Easter visit.  Our daughter-in-law is on staff at Warren Wilson College, a unique Appalachian based college that combines preserving traditional animal and food production skills along with earning a four year degree. Being in the Spring season anywhere is exciting, but this place took Spring to a whole new level. 

Herman and I were both raised on Appalachian farms in East Tennessee.  Generally these farms are mountainous, under a hundred acres, hilly, and isolated among the hills and hollers.  Spring is always the most exciting time of the year because new calves, colts, piglets, sheep, chicks, ducks and geese are being born daily. Everything is so alive! While we lived year round on our farms, spring stands out as unique because it follows, in my opinion, the ugliest season of winter.  Spring  brings lots of rain, cool temperatures, a fresh smell to the air. The sunshine  is so powerful that it strikes the new green leaves in a way that overpowers one's senses. This past weekend on Warren Wilson's farm was no exception.

We saw sheep that were both sheared and waiting to be sheared. There were a gazillion piglets and chirping baby chicks. Horses were waiting to be harnessed to plows fields along with tractors that had recently overturned the wet, dark black earth for planting. And there was the smell of manure that waited to be hauled out to fertilize this year's crops.  Bees buzzed, ants crawled and wasps were busy building this year's nests.  It was such a sensory overload for us. 

Most East Tennesseans and North Carolinians are of English, Scotch or Irish descent.  Their farms and methods of farming still greatly resemble the farming skills of these British Isles.  Appalachian cooking and food preparation skills still resemble the British methods.  My first understanding of this resemblance came when I visited the British Isles for the first time and saw foods and tastes identical to my Mom's. It was this connection that tied so much history together for me in a way that no classroom could have produced.

Standing in the barns and sheds on Warren Wilson College farms I suddenly knew where I was from in a fresh way. I could feel my long deceased Mom and Dad, both sets of grandparents, and a long line of other descendants who came to this new world and found a place much like 'home' in the old country. I never suspected as a child that I, too, would embrace this heritage as all the others before me had embraced it. This weekend the connection became quite real.

Aunt Emma's and Aunt Fay's Books

The other day my husband and I got in a conversation about the importance of books in children's lives. Part of this reflection led to Dolly Parton's Imagination Library which donates a book monthly to all children who sign up until they enter first grade. While I don't know what motivated her to choose this particular charity, I can't help but believe that it is related to her experiences as a child of Appalachia (Sevierville, TN). She came from a large poor family that struggled to survive during her growing up years. I think she graduated from high school, but by that time she had already started her singing career. To me she is a heroine because I, too, knew a similar world of mountains, ignorance, struggle and, to some degree, a disrespect for education. What I see in her charity is the idea that exposure to different worlds through books can drastically impact how you see and interact with the real world. It certainly did for me.

While I had 18 aunts and uncles several of which I interacted with daily and a family that had more education than Dolly's, I know the impact of social ignorance and poor education. The major influence to my isolation and ignorance was through books also; books that were given me by Aunt Emma and Aunt Fay. Aunt Emma lived about 85 miles from me and was a kindergarten teacher until her own children arrived. Aunt Fay had no children and lived 7 miles from me. Both were frequent visitors to our house. Both seemed to take a special interest in me and my life. They filled in the spaces of parenting that Mama and Daddy could not; the spaces of ignorance about a larger world and its people. Aunt Fay shopped for me, tried new recipes with me, and simply took the time to talk to me. Aunt Emma also talked to me, but she asked more questions and both of them really listened to the answers I gave. I remember them laughing long lengths of time to something I said or one of my answers. One of Aunt Emma's best gifts to me was 10 books that she was given when her school purchased new books. I got some of the old ones and was encouraged to read them. These books were very age appropriate and easily captured my third grade interests. We talked about them after I read them. This made me want to read more books.

I should tell you that I was not a book worm in spite of Aunt Emma's and Aunt Fay's encouragement because Mama who read very little had other things she had to teach me about farming, cooking and canning. I rarely went searching for a new book to read, but when one was given to me I felt obligated to read it because Mama said it was a gift and gifts should "always be appreciated by using them no matter what they was." In high school I worked during study hall with Aunt Fay, the school librarian, as a 'library assistant'. This introduced me to more books which I mostly shelved and heard others talk about. The only book I ever remember wanting to read was "Lady Chatterley's Lover" but I knew I'd never stand a chance at getting my hands on this one because Aunt Fay protected it with her life. However, during my senior year I managed to sneak it out of the library for the summer. NOW THAT WAS A BOOK! I still don't know if she ever knew I had it, but if she did she never said a word and I haven't got up the nerve yet to ask her.

Sometimes I often wonder how on earth I became a college professor when I had so little experience with books and reading. Both my ACT and SAT scores showed me that I didn't know very much because I had not read all the things college bound kids should read. I didn't know what a classic was and didn't care to know, but somehow by the time I finished college I had learned what conversations to avoid and which brainy people I could and could not tolerate. I still managed to graduate Magna Cum Laude and knew the stuff I was interested in quite well.

Now some fifty years later I understand the role books played in taking me to new worlds. Had these two aunts not been intimately involved in my life by exposing me to books I'm sure that I would not be a reader at all or at least only a reader of sensational books like "Lady Chatterley's Lover". Oh, did I mention I am currently reading "Fifty Shades of Grey"?