Christmas Memories from the Barn
Growing up a “city kid” I can still remember the excitement I felt as a child when my Grandmother’s farm was our holiday destination. For in that magical place I learned to “believe”.
Images of their white-washed farmhouse still flood my heart with memories of Christmases past. While its interior held all the warmth and glow of the holiday at hand, my attentions where fixed on one thing and one thing only… I wanted to be out in the barn!
With siblings and cousins closing in fast, I would leap from the back of our station wagon bounding across the porch for the back door. This was to secure my position as “first in line” all the while shouting “Grandma, can I ride Buttercup!”
I will always remember the smell of hay and horses as Grandma opened the wooden doors of that old barn. Just beyond, standing in a bed of fresh straw in a tie stall under the loft, stood the giant red roan mare I longed to wrap my arms around. Pulling the peppermint stick from my pocket, Buttercup’s gentle lips softly took the candy from my mitten covered hand. I was most certain from the look in her eye she was saying how much she had missed me since last summer.
Sleigh rides were a special treat as not all Christmas vacations produced snow! When I think back on those afternoons as we trotted through the snowy fields singing carols and nibbling Grandma’s “skillet cookies”, I need only close my eyes to hear… the brass bells on Buttercup’s harness, jingle in perfect harmony within my heart.
It was on one such occasion after a day in the snow when my Grandmother and I went about bedding Buttercup down for the evening. I’ll remember this Christmas as though it were yesterday. I was only 6 years old. While tending to the chores at hand Grandma began to tell me a story. Bella, she said…
A story is told about the night
The babe was born in the stable’s light.
The animals gathered round that day
Admiring the Christ Child now lying in the hay.
Because they worshipped that little babe,
And sang their praises to Him
God has granted them one night a year
They can talk with the seraphim.
Late at night, on Christmas Eve
In every stable and barn,
The critters gather in Jesus’ name
Warm and safe from harm.
At the stroke of midnight, a miracle!
Lowing and braying takes form
As words of love and praise come forth
And the creature’s voices transform
Into lovely, sweet, and comforting sounds
As they utter worshipful words
No one’s left out, there are sheep and elk
Coyotes, cougars and birds.
The angels sing and play their lutes,
The drummer boy thumps his drum.
The horse’s knicker an “Agnus Dei”
And all of the animals come.
To lend their voices in adoration
At the birth of the blessed child
And teach us gentle lessons
In tones both sweet and mild.
“O Holy Night”, the mother ewe bleats
As she snuggles her little lamb,
While benediction is offered up
By a majestic curly horned ram.
Voices ring out from the top of the lofts,
Across the meadows and plains,
A chorus of joyful, heavenly notes.
The Christ Child’s Glory proclaimed.
For the next ten years Grandma and I shared our special adventure each Christmas Eve. We sat in the old barn at midnight, snuggling in the hay as we waited to hear Buttercup wish us a blessed Christmas Day.
My Grandmother represented everything good and gentle and kind. She filled my world with fun and laughter. To this day I continue the tradition of Grandma’s story. Standing there in the aisle of my barn on Christmas Eve as I wait in wonderment to hear my horses speak. Sharing a batch of beloved “skillet cookies” with Weeter-Tweeter, Wally-Lou, and Sonny too…I reminisce about my childhood and that magical barn on my Grandmother’s farm.
May the enchantment of this holiday season
fill your barn with magic…
“Merry Christmas”