When we came down the big hill and could see all of Seneca, Nebraska, it seemed like magic had been performed. A single string of colored bulbs had been strung over the intersections on both ends of Main Street. It didn’t occur to me to wonder who put them up, or how someone could climb so far. Maybe I thought it was magic; oh, that’s right, no real Santa so no magic, that’s not real either.
I never got to believe in Santa—Mom didn’t want my heart to break when I learned the truth, so she said the legend was a secret I should never tell to my friends. There was never a fellow dressed in a Santa suit to be seen, so my friends didn’t make him much of a deal. At school, we skipped some lessons in order to practice for the Christmas program, which was held in the auditorium downtown. That building was never warm, so we practiced with our coats and mittens on.
Those lights above the intersections were the signal for store windows to display a shiny red wagon, maybe a sled or toboggan, and most had a wreath on the door, or a sign saying Merry Christmas. There would be that ribbon hard candy next to the Hershy bars and Almond Joy.
My grandma would have her Christmas tree up, and a couple of electric candles in the window. I never thought to ask who put that tree up; I’m sure she didn’t do it alone, at eighty- two. There were even lights on her tree, and I do remember the year she switched to bubble lights. There were no fake trees then, you just got one at the grocery store. My favorite one of her decorations was a paper bell that unfolded and almost looked real.
At the ranch, Dad and I walked up the hill behind our house where the pine grove was. He let me carry the saw sometimes. We never had a real tree, only a large branch, because my dad had carried buckets of water to those pines when they were first planted, and he wasn’t about to cut one down. But once it was arranged in a five-gallon bucket of gravel with the flat side of the branch to the wall, it almost looked as good as Grandma’s. No lights on it though, we didn’t have electricity.
At milking time, on Christmas Eve, I went to the barn with Dad, and on the way back to the house I always looked for the brightest star. Was that the one in the story? Maybe the other one over there. At least the star was real, I told myself. Some things you just have to believe.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile, look for the Star.