The Blessings of the Season

I was sick when I started this story last year and never had the strength to finish it when it was relevant. Pip had also died during that time, so writing was very difficult for me. I'm finishing it now--because it's time. Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah to everyone who celebrates them--and may the blessings of the Season be upon you all, no matter who or where you are.

I'll be honest with you: nothing about December makes it the best time of year for me. Not the cold, not the (now that I live in the South, occasional) snow, not the short daylight hours. Deer season keeps me busy with work, the small dogs rarely have the opportunity to go outside. Worst of all are the emotional connections with the season: Specials dogs that are now gone had birthdays in December (Beau, 12/20; Holly, 12/22--which happens to be my nameday), a Christmas Day argument with my dad was the last time I ever spoke to him before he died shortly afterward, my grandfather died on Boxing Day after a long bout with cancer. Typically, December is a long slog of feeling sad and crying a lot over memories of happier Christmas Days.

Fifteen years ago now, there was one very special Christmas Day. I was alone, as I typically was. Christmas had lost its luster for me since my childhood. I tried to maintain some traditions on my own: Chinese food on Christmas Eve, reading "A Christmas Carol," making a turkey and a pie, even if just for myself. But there was no one to celebrate St. Nicholas Day with, no one with whom I could exchange stockings on Christmas Eve. No homemade pierogi and oplatki with my paternal grandparents. No family for me to see smiling as they opened the gifts I gave them. Over time, it had become just me, my dogs and the chickens I had in a tractor in the backyard.

That December, God seemed kindly disposed to me. Despite being new to the community, I had a small amount of work and income coming on a regular basis. I had a nice church to which I belonged. Even better, some church members had asked me to "farm sit" while they were away for several weeks, getting me out of my house and, in particular, out of my head. I had taken care of the farm previously, during a couple of weeks during the summer, so I already knew the routine. I was happy to do it, as it made me useful at a time of year during which I'm typically depressed and anxious about life. Besides that, their little "farm," a homestead, really, was something that I had always dreamed of having. It was very like the place my grandfather had had in Massachusetts when I was growing up, a few acres with chickens, a couple of hogs, and a garden. That part of coastal Massachusetts is land poor, so it's difficult to get a decent amount of land together to graze anything--not that it's easy to coax food from the soil, either. All the same, Grampa Manny made a summertime living on his garden and had been able to feed his family on his chickens and livestock. The family that I was sitting for had less of a garden than my maternal grandfather ever had, but more pastureland devoted to donkeys, a few steers, and a flock of sheep.

It was relatively easy work, most of the time--although Little Ram once got his horns stuck in the fence and Big Ram kept butting him in the rear, which made freeing him, um, challenging. My duties included cleaning the chicken house, feeding the chickens, and collecting eggs--a couple of dozen eggs at a time, which I could keep while they were gone. I fed the dogs and fed the livestock, mostly just giving grain and occasionally restocking hay for the sheep. I had the sad duty, once, of burying a premature lamb, but was rewarded when a half dozen were born, healthy and happy, as my watch came to a close. Life was good, better even, because I got to enjoy the animals and didn't have to pay the bills.

But that Christmas was special. For the first time in YEARS, Mississippi was going to have cold weather on Christmas. Everyone I knew was very excited, because a slight chance of snow was in the prediction. I wasn't looking forward to the cold temperatures, not if I had to spend an hour or more doing chores at the homestead. All the same, when I woke up to find snow on the ground, I was instantly transported to the New England Christmases of my youth. For the first time, I had the crunch of snow under my feet when I stepped out of my car, onto the driveway, as I walked around the acreage doing my chores. The stillness of the scene was almost supernatural. The two farm dogs stayed snug in their warm beds as I passed by. The chickens clucked lazily from their perches as I fed them and collected the eggs in the nest boxes. Even the guinea fowl were subdued.

The steers were leaning up against the round bale as I approached their pasture, their front hooves tucked under their chests. Even from a distance, I could hear them chewing their cuds, breathing out soft sounds in contentment.

The cattle are lowing . . .

It was shortly after dawn, not nighttime, but the thought appeared out of nowhere. For just a moment, I stood transfixed, thinking about the Child born in a manger. These sounds were quite possibly the first sounds that He truly heard and understood, after the tumult of His birth had died down. I stood under that cold, clear, blue Mississippi sky and tears started to roll down my cheeks.

The moment stayed with me, even when the tears stopped flowing. Those donkeys were not just the silly donkeys who had amused me time and again with their antics. They were the descendants of the donkey, who, legend had it, carried Mary to Bethlehem for the census, of the donkey who carried Jesus into Jerusalem. Their shoulders carried the sign of the cross. Their kind had been present for His birth and in His preparation for death. The cold seemed unimportant as I poured the donkeys' grain into their buckets.

The sheep had seen me coming from a distance, I'm certain. Some were up and about. A few ewes, heavy with fleece and lambs, rested still in their run-in shed. Big Ram and Little Ram had a mock fight over the fresh hay in their manger, although they had another one that was still almost full. For only a moment, I felt a kinship with those shepherds who had heard the angels singing, heralding Christ's newborn presence on Earth. I hadn't slept with my sheep in the fields, but I understood the sense of peace that they must have had that day. They must have had an understanding, even an imperfect one, of the change that was coming to the world. For the first time, having been in the presence of those very same animals that had beheld Christ at his birth, I was gaining that same understanding.

Christmas had come into my heart that morning. December is still a difficult time for me. I still have depression and anxiety, but now I have Dan and his family to share the season. I have Kathleen to call, to talk the feelings away if I feel sad. Both my depression and anxiety levels are bearable most days. And, when times are truly difficult during the Christmas season, I can think back to the day that I was privileged to feel that unity with the Blessed Infant. It's a blessing that I will cherish forever.