Just Another Day in the Country: Lighting up the prairie
Lighting up the Prairie
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
When we drove into Ramona after flying back from California, the first thing we wanted to know was, "Were all the Christmas lights in town still on?" We came around the corner by the railroad tracks and there they were — downtown was ablaze with Christmas cheer! Our five square blocks were a wonderful sight to behold.
There's a unique quality to Christmas lights on the prairie where the night is pitch-black and street lamps are few and far between. Those cheerful multicolored strands stand out like jewels on the dark winter landscape. The all-white twinkling lights rival the stars for beauty and sparkle like diamonds.
On our way to California, we'd told our friend Tim about the Christmas lights in the Napa Valley. "We'll show you the ones at Brix restaurant," we told him, "where they light every branch (it seems) of these huge old oak trees in front of the establishment."
"We'll take you by the vineyards where they put twinklies on row upon row of grape vines," we said as we described the glory of the tourist attractions. However, when we got there, the Napa Valley was strangely dark. The lighting extravaganza was evidently a thing of the past because California is in the throes of an energy crisis. Even the houses were mostly unadorned, the streets undecorated, in our little valley town.
Uncle Hank tells me that when he was a boy there was no such thing as Christmas lights decorating the houses or the trees. Electricity had not come to rural Kansas. There was Christmas excitement, though.
On Christmas Eve, the family was bundled up for the ride to the church for services. One year they had a big snow and the roads were drifted shut so John Lorei, who worked for the Schubert family and later married one of their daughters, got out the lumber wagon and hitched up the horses and drove the family four and a half miles across the pastures to St. Paul Lutheran Church, which stood for many years northeast of Ramona.
Grandma heated bricks and wrapped them in newspaper and put them in the straw in the bottom of the wagon. Dressed in long underwear, coats, gloves, hats, and covered with blankets, the long bumpy ride was bearable. At the church, the children all got something after the program. "Usually it was an orange and some nuts and a few pieces of candy. We thought it was great," says Henry Schubert.
As a finale to the service, the candles were lit on the Christmas tree and everyone gathered around to sing, "O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum vie treu sind deine blatter," in German.
"I'll never forget those trustees walking around that blazing tree. They had big long poles that had a wet rag tied to the end so they could put out any fire that might start from those candles," Hank remembers, "It's a wonder we didn't burn that church down."
After the glory of seeing the candles on the Christmas tree and getting goodies, it was time for the ride home. This time, four and a half miles seemed much longer, "The ground was frozen and that wagon had no springs," Hank laughs at the memory, "The bricks were cold and we were about frozen when we finally got home."
Their mother would go in first and light the lamp — and there, like magic, was another Christmas tree with presents underneath — another Christmas glory!
All through the week between Christmas and New Year's, the family Christmas tree remained in the parlor and then on New Year's Eve, the candles were brought out and placed on the tree and nine little children stood in awe, their faces bathed in candlelight as another year melted into history and a new year began.
Ninety-five Christmases for my aunt Anna, 87 for Uncle Hank, 64 for me and each year I seek the thrill of Christmas on a dark winter night. I've searched for it from New York to New Delhi, from California to Kansas, in big crowds of strangers or with family gathered around and I find it most sweetly in the still of the night, where stars shine bright, in the country.
