A Christmas Tradition

Christmas Day has come and gone, and we were blessed to spend the holidays with our grown children. There is a love that comes with being a parent that I never knew could exist until I experienced it for myself. Having everyone together again—sharing a meal, opening gifts, laughing through a family game, and simply enjoying one another’s company—filled my heart in a way that is hard to put into words.

As I watched our family gathered around the table this year, I found myself thinking back to Christmases at my grandparents’ home.

Those holidays were pure magic.

Every year, I looked forward to making the trip to their house. The kitchen would be filled with the wonderful aromas of turkey, ham, and every delicious side dish imaginable, all lovingly prepared by my grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The tables overflowed with food, laughter, and stories.

We played games, exchanged gifts, and spent hours simply enjoying one another’s company.

We laughed together, sometimes cried together, and most importantly, we grew together.

My family has always shared a deep love for one another, and I feel incredibly blessed to have been raised surrounded by so much kindness, faith, and joy.

When our bellies were full and our hearts content, everyone would gather around the glow of the Christmas tree. It was there that my grandfather became our storyteller.

He had a way of bringing every story to life, but one in particular has stayed with me all these years. The way my grandfather told it, you would have thought he had lived the adventure himself. His voice changed with every character. His expressions, his gestures, and his timing had every one of us completely captivated. We sat quietly, hanging on every word until he reached the unforgettable ending.

It went something like this…

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen strange sights, 

But the strangest they ever did see

Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.  

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.  Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.  He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;  Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell."  On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.  Talk of your cold through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.  If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;  It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.  

And that very night as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe. He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;  And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."  Well he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;  then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.   Yet it ain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;  So I want your to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."  

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;  And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.  He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;  And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.  There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, with a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;  It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:  "You may tax your brawn and brains, but you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."  

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were numb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, howled out their woes to the homeless snows-- O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;  And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.  Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;  It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May". And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;  Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."  

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;  Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;  The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.  

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.  It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;  And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;  But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;  I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:  "I'll just take a peep inside.  I guess hes cooked, and it's time I looked";... then the door I opened wide.  And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;  And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said:  "Please close that door.  It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm -- Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."  

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, 

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee. ~ Robert Service

Even today, whenever I hear those opening lines, I’m transported back to my grandparents’ living room, sitting beneath the glow of the Christmas tree with my family gathered close.

It’s funny how traditions like these become part of who we are. Long after the gifts are forgotten and the decorations are packed away, it’s the stories, the laughter, and the people we shared them with that remain in our hearts forever.

Those are the gifts that last a lifetime.