GROWING UP IN LOUISA…White Christmas?

White Christmas?

As I write this article I can hear winter’s wind blowing outside making noises much the same as the sound tract used by a favorite radio program, ‘Sargent Preston of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.’ I’ve seen the radar picture of a large swath of Appalachia, including Kentucky, Tennessee, West Virginia, Virginia and Pennsylvania are covered with tons of the ‘white stuff.’ As it happens the cold front didn’t bring the moisture to my corner, but one can still dream. I mean, what could be better than to be locked behind closed doors by a pandemic than to be snow-bound, too? That leaves us plenty of opportunity to watch Rosemary Clooney, a fine Kentucky lass, sing and dance through the classic movie, “White Christmas.” With this pause in everyday living I am drawn back to the Christmases and sometimes corresponding snowfalls of yesteryear when ‘Sargent Preston’ seemed all too real.  

When I was growing up there were times that everyone was excited over the prospect of snow during the upcoming holidays. I remember times when winter’s winds would howl and the air would bite. My adults had mixed feelings because mom loved the snow, while others saw it as a bit of a bother. The aforementioned movie, ‘White Christmas’ connected the joy of Christmas with snow and sitting or standing in front of a hot stove.

As for me, I liked the look of snow and enjoyed the chance to ride a sled down the face of town hill, but only until I was finally frozen and wet. These combinations chased me home much earlier than other kids, because personal comfort was very much a thing with me. I also knew that the small gas stoves we had weren’t really all that helpful, so it would take time to defrost. The house I lived in on Clay Street was built well before anyone had begun using insulation, so the walls were cold, the windows would frost or even, ice over with fantastic displays. Each room had a fireplace back then, but no fires were built in them. Major living areas within the house had been outfitted with small gas stoves that would glow red-hot when the gas was turned up. Even then the heat would only radiate out maybe a few feet into the room. One could still see one’s breath when exhaling.

A common sight at our house was the folks backed up to the fireplaces pushing their way in to get some heat. They were often in pajamas or robes, or even an overcoat. Whatever they wore, their backs would get hot. This would force them away from the fire for a bit, only to return when the warm cooled down. I remember my pant legs burning my legs when I moved causing the hot material to touch my skin. I learned to stand close to the taller people who were also fighting for a warm spot. This second-hand heat helped and them at the same time. I’m reminded of a popular band from younger days called “Three Dog Night.’

We had to keep the water dripping in hopes of avoiding a frozen pipe. I was told more than once that if a pipe froze, the water would expand and burst the pipe. They might not even know the pipe was broken until it thawed, then we’d have an unwelcome flood on all the rugs and furniture. In my mind I envisioned the wingback chair covered by a large block of ice. I had visions of the grown-ups slipping on the icy floor and like a comical movie flailing and falling when their feet slipped skyward. Maybe I’d seen too many cartoons.

I remember during many winter storms that some really large icicles formed from the porch roofs, some as wide as five or six inches and as long as a foot or more. They would drop one at a time when the sun hit them, and were something to avoid since they were spear-shaped and sharp. I supposed that they could be dangerous if they struck you. I remember once when one had already fallen in front of me when I was leaving the house. I paused and looked up to make sure none were left to bushwhack me as I passed underneath. Just at that moment some of the cold, icy water spilled down behind my collar and went down my back sending a chill that survived almost all day. Brrrrrh!

A boy’s affinity to puddles is well known and documented, but when the water became ice youngsters were still prone to test the waters. A toe would stretch toward the sheet of ice to see if it was solid, or perhaps merely a skim on top much the same as butter-fat on milk. A crack, or snap would give the warning for a slow and retreat; else, if the ice was firm a mini-playground was found. If five or six feet in length, then a skating rink was an obvious use for the new discovery. No skates were needed, but merely the slick leather of shoe bottoms sufficed. It would be a run and a slide, then a repeat in the opposite direction. Kids from all around were likely to see the action and join, screaming and laughing all along.

I have a copy of a movie that shows young people ice skating on the river down at the locks. While ice skating and ice fishing are common in the north, I never once saw that happen in southern Kentucky. I watched the movie half-expecting the ice giving away and drowning some poor kid, but I supposed it worked out that no one broke through.   

When temperatures got into the seriously low numbers I preferred to pile on the quilts and stay in bed. That was okay for the short-term, but even on the coldest of days life had to go on. If nothing else, mom pulled me out into the cold air and forced me to dress and arise for breakfast. In those days it was not the normal eggs and bacon, or cold cereals but rather a stack of hot pancakes or waffles. Sometimes steamy oatmeal would be served, perhaps with some buttered toast and jelly. The oatmeal made me feel warm even if I wasn’t.

When I was thirteen I spent the winter in Detroit, Michigan. Heavy snows occurred every few days up there. Then another storm would pile more snow on top of the old snow until you forgot where the ground was. Indeed, you might not see the ground until April. Somewhere around that time of the year the crocus would break through the layers of frozen matter to add forgotten color to the landscape. It was a sign, no it was a promise of things to come.

Cabin fever was a real thing for me back then. Being locked up away from my friends and playmates was hard. I had endured winter storms before and also was stuck in quarantines that were brought on by illnesses. I think that facing a long-term pandemic and having a heavy snow in that old environment would do me in. Today, though, we have the miracle of the electronic age. Kids talk to their friends all day and all night on their handhelds. I doubt the snows or a pandemic makes as much a difference these days. Houses are warmer, a whole group of friends are as near as our smartphone, we have tons of games to entertain and then there always the two or three hundred channels on cable.

It is Christmas shopping that is suffering today. We can still put on our masks and hit the malls but for those of us who are at high risk of catching the bug, that isn’t smart. But wait! Even that is done on smartphones these days. I guess technology has stepped in just when we really needed it. Good Christmas shopping, my friends!!

As for staying warm, we have just installed a new wood burning stove that puts out some real heat. I think I may back up to that for a time and I remember other days. If I’m lucky, someone may join me.

By the way, it’s still too early to know if some of us will get a white Christmas, but I wish for you a safe, warm and healthy Christmas season. This might be a good time to make some Christmas candy or some Christmas cookies. Just suggesting. . .

mcoburncppo@aol.com