My maternal grandparents were a part of the Mennonite belief, plain-living, plain-talking, hard-working. My mom grew up with that example and met my dad during a larger church community event. We too learned to follow the tradition and received our Christian teachings from our elders. We participated in Sunday school programs and classes and congregational singing.
On reflection, I cannot recall a great importance being placed on the usual trappings of Christmas, with lights and glitter. Grandpa and grandma didn't decorate any of their modest homes. We had a green tree, strung with paper chains, popcorn and a few treasured ornaments. Carol and I remember metal icicles, about five to six inches in a spiral style. We've seen some since at markets that are touched with a little colour, to give a little sparkle. We also had some streamers made of crepe paper that re-emerged every season.
When grandma and grandpa returned from several years in Ontario, they lived first in the tiny cabin to the back of the main yard. Later they purchased a neighbour's small farmhouse and had it moved a mile or so to their own property. They spent Christmas Day with us until they eventually moved to an equally small home in Didsbury.
Christmas morning at the farm began much the same as any other morning. Dad and the older boys rose early to do the chores. The cows waited for no one. We also had chickens to feed, water to haul in from the pump, oil for the heaters, wood to chop and carry in for the kitchen cookstove.
We each had our assigned duties, and then sat down together for breakfast. Grace was often sung in harmony. “Be present at our table, Lord.” If it was Mom's turn, she always began, “Kind heavenly Father.” After we washed dishes, we waited till everyone was present. Then we were allowed to open our gifts, often handmade with imagination and love. Mom made extra clothing for our dolls. Warren received an electric race car set one year. We all enjoyed the novelty of that. Books were frequent gifts and were read avidly.
We girls helped mom with preparation for a grand dinner. Grandma was always involved. We generally had turkey and stuffing, mounds of creamy mashed potatoes with rich gravy, turnips (not my favourite) and peas and carrots.
Grandma and mom had prepared pies of all sorts. Apple was a favourite and we had crates of apples stored in our chilly cellar. Grandpa's choice was raisin or mincemeat; dad's was lemon meringue.
After dinner was savoured and things tidied again, we sometimes bundled up and headed to Jackson Lake for an hour or so of compulsory skating. Dad was a true outdoorsman. He encouraged his kids to be the same, though how well he succeeded is in question. Warren played hockey later; the rest of us were fairly shaky in that department.
Most of us learned to skate on the lake, a large slough down a road allowance, overgrown with untended tree branches. Dad took his tractor and blade out a day or so before Christmas, broke a trail through to the lake, then graded a portion of the ice to make a usable surface. When our contingent arrived we assembled around a bonfire to lace up and go.
As small people, we had been positioned behind an old kitchen chair, an indifferent skating partner. We wobbled about for awhile and eventually developed strong enough ankles to remain upright on our own.
We all returned to the fire and Mom's attention to get warm. Hot chocolate and toasted marshmallows completed the day. We whined over the cold but we knew the comfort and warmth of family.
