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Christmas In My BrickyardBeyond the frozen Brickyard Pond, Goose-necked Girl baked bread pudding in
crumbling outdoor ovens for the Pigman to deliver to the poor on Christmas Eve.
After 50 years bringing holiday cheer and with age age taking its toll, the two
hermits came to me with a simple request. And so for six years thereafter, until
I left home forever I served as ruling elf in my Brickyard. It was 1962 I
remember best when morning flurries on Christmas Eve churned into a whirling
blizzard. The first major storm since World War II all the locals would later
claim. Goose-necked Girl and I worked well past midnight packing more than 300
two-pound cartons of sugary goodness for every house in Whippanong Heights from
Eden Mill to Satan’s Lane. The wiry Pigman, dressed from tip to toe in muskrat
brown, took over from there loading up his well-worn sleigh before hitching it
all to a team of 8 four-year-old boars trained since piglets to pull a thousand
pounds across a snowy landscape. Once underway, I, in my work-a-day plaids and
army-surplus boots, steered from behind, jumping off every few yards to leave
the yummy pudding on front porches right by the door. The storm roared all night
long reaching record proportions by Christmas morning, and slowing our run
through the freezing darkness into the freezing morning white. It wasn’t until
half past ten on Christmas Day that our team finally made it back to
Goose-necked Girl’s little shelter which by then was jacketed by more than two
feet of drifting snow on its sagging clapboard roof. She told us to sleep away
our fatigue while she prepared a hearty Christmas feast. I fell into a dreamy
slumber by the pot-bellied stove and awoke later that afternoon to find I was
all alone. I waited just a while before trudging over to my Grandmother’s shack
to taste the Christmas pudding that we had dropped off 12 hours or so before.
The snow had slowed by then but my march across the frozen pond, along the
high-tension wire path and up the blizzard-whipped gravel road to the Heights
took more than an hour with only the tracks of our dessert-laden sleigh evidence
that this world was ours. When I opened the kitchen door there stood my
Grandmother and Goose-necked Girl busily cooking dinner. In a hickory rocker,
the Pigman dozed while the team of boars napped around him on the tarpaper
floor. In time, we convened around the kitchen table to savor turkey, apples and
plenty of dressing, but most of all I remember all of us - men, women and beasts
- devouring extra cartons of creamy kindness on the merriest Christmas ever in
my Brickyard. |
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