DAY 2 -- ANOTHER SKIMPY CHRISTMAS WITH INA

 Weather is bright and cold, the ground frozen hard. It is making water scarce and we need lots more moisture but we do enjoy the bright days, for we had so much fog and frost and gloom for a while. – Ina

Artist's rendition of original fireplace

“Gram, would you please read Aunt Ida’s letter about her Christmas memories,” Sadie asked Ina. Ina and Ethel nodded to each other in approval of Sadie’s interest in family history. The import of this was much more than just a frivolous Christmas story. Ina’s sister Ida, six years her elder, was the family historian. Ina removed the well-worn letter from the old oak box. Reading and re-reading old family letters was a favorite pastime here at the farm.

Ina and Ethel coaxed the old settee closer to the fireplace and the three of them snuggled under the brightly-colored new quilt that Ina had finished this year.

Ida Patchen, her daughter, Vance, Ina, Pearl, & Jack, 1942

“Patchen House [Drain, OR]

March 5^th, 1922 – Sunday,” . . . Ina began.

“My dear old Ina Rose,

“We are in the midst of another storm. Snow covered our Drain Hills this morning – also yesterday morning – so we find the fireplace and its cheery blaze a comfortable place to abide by.”

Picturing the snow, the three involuntarily shivered and snuggled more closely under the cover.

“In hunting for something not long ago, I found the letter you girls put on the first Christmas tree we had in the schoolhouse over at Ben’s,” – yes, the very same schoolhouse as today, Ina explained – “. . .telling me Santa had been delayed with his gift to me but it would come later. That letter and an orange from Mrs. Ladd was all I got that time. The gift, a small purse, is over on the organ right now – as good as ever – although it has had years of real service. But still, it’s a treasure of old time that I’m guarding jealously.

Charlie Wiley & daughter

No, I think I’ve never had a Christmas that someone didn’t remember me. Even if t’was only a small gift, the love that prompted it was big. I’ll never forget one Christmas in old Iowa when all our little Ma had for her expectant brood was a 10-cent package of candy divided between and given out wrapped up in newspaper. We sat on Pa’s tool chest like so many hungry crows and I tried not to see the hurt in Ma’s face and to keep out of my own all I could for her sake, too. I think I was 11 years old. But do as we could, it didn’t seem like Christmas. However, God put it into the heart of Charley Wiley to save the day by slipping in on us with a big breezy “Merry Christmas” and giving me that wonderful candy apple and something in candy of smaller fruit to you and Bertha, too. My, didn’t our spirits come up, though, and the happy, relieved look on Ma’s face alone would have repaid him did he only know the whole circumstance. (Silly ain’t I, but I’m crying.)”

 

“To be continued,” announced Ina abruptly as the old clock on the mantel struck 8:00. Sadie began to protest, but Ina and Ethel were firm. Tomorrow was a school day, and the chores would have to be done early. But Ina promised faithfully to read more of the letter tomorrow night.