搜索
AnIowaChristmasPaulEngle1.EveryChristmasshouldbeginwiththesoundofbells,andwhenIwasachild,minealwaysdid.Buttheyweresleighbells,notchurchbells,forwelivedinapartofCedarRapids,Iowa,wheretherewerenochurches.Mybellswereonmyfather'steamofhorsesashedroveuptoourhorse-headedhitchingpostwiththebobsledthatwouldtakeustocelebrateChristmasonthefamilyfarmtenmilesoutinthecountry.MyfatherwouldbringtheteamdownFifthAvenueatasmarttrot,flickinghiswhipoverthehorses'rumpsandmakingthebellsdoubletheirlight,thinjanglingoverthesnow,whoseradiancethrewbackabrilliance1ikethesoundofbells.2.Therearenosuchdeparturesanymore:thewholefamilypilingintothebobsledwithafootofgoldenoatstrawtolieinandheavybuffalorobestolieunder,thehorsesstampingthesoftsnow,andateverymotionoftheirhoofsthebellsjingling,jingling.Myfathersattherewiththereinsfirmlyheld,wearingalongcoatmadefromthehideofafavoritefamilyhorse,thedeepchestnutcolorstillglowing,hismittensalsofromthesamehide.Italwaystroubledmeasaboyofeightthatthehorseshadsoindifferentaviewoftheirlatefriendappearingasawarmovercoatonthebackofthemanwhoputtheironbitintheirmouths.3.Therearenostreetslikethoseanymore:thesnowsensiblyleftontheroadforthesakeofsleighsandeasytravel.Wecouldhopoilandridetheheavyrunnersastheymadetheirhissing,tearingsoundoverthepackedsnow.Andalongthestreetswemetotherhorses,sothatwemovedfromonesetofbellstoanother,fromthetinytinkleoftheindividualbellsontheshaftstothesilvery,leapingsoundofthelongstrandshungovertheharness.Therewouldbeanoccasionalbrass-mountedautomobilelaboringonitsnarrowtiresandasoftenasnotpulleduptheslipperyhillsbyahorse,andwewouldpassitwithatriumphantshoutforanawkwardnuisancewhichwasobviouslynotheretostay.4.Thecountryroadranthroughalandscapeoflittlehillsandshallowvalleysandheavygrovesoftimber,includingoneofgreattoweringblackwalnuttreeswhichwereallcutdownayearlatertobemadeintogunstocksfortheFirstWorldWar.Thegreatmomentwaswhenwelefttheroadandturnedupthelonglaneonthefarm.Itranthroughfieldswherewatermelonswerealwaysplantedinthesummerbecauseofthefinesandysoil,andIcouldgooutandbreakoneopentoseeitsChristmascolorsofgreenskinandredinside.MygrandfatherhadbeengivensomeofthatfarmasbountylandforserviceasacavalrymanintheCivilWar.5.Nearthelowhouseonthehill,withoaksononesideandappletreesontheother,myfatherwouldstandup,flourishhiswhip,andbringthebobsledrightuptothedoorofthehousewithaburstofspeed.6.Therearenosucharrivalsanymore:theharnessbellsringingandclashinglikefarawaysteeples,thehorseswhinnyingatthehorsesinthebarnandreceivingagreat,trumpetingwhinnyinreply.thedogsleapingintothebobsledandburrowingunderthebuffalorobes,asquawkingfromthehenhouse,ayellingof“Whoa,whoa,”attheexcitedhorses,boyandgirlcousinshowlingaroundthebobsled,andthedescentintothesnowwiththeChristmasbasketcarriedbymymother.7.Whilemymotherandsisterswentintothehouse,theteamwasunhitchedandtakentothebarn,tobecoveredwithblanketsandgivenalittlegrain.Thatwinterodorofabarnisawonderfullycomplexone,richandwarmandutterlyunlikethesmellofthesamebarninsummer:thebodyheatofmanyanimalsweighingathousandpoundsandmore;pigsinonecornermakingtheirdark,brown-soundinggrunts;milkcattlestillnuzzlingthemangerforwispsofhay;horseseyeingthenewcomersandrollingtheirdeep,ovaleyeswhite;oats,hay,andstrawtangystillwiththeliveAugustsunlight;themanuresteaming;thesharpodorof'leatherharnessrubbedwithneat's--footoiltokeepitsupple;themolasses-sweetodorofensilageinthesilowherethefodderwasalmostfermenting.Itisasmellfromstrongandlivingthings,andmyfatheralwayssaiditwasthesecretofhealth,thatitscouredoutaman'slungs;andhewouldstandthere,breathingdeeply,onehandonahorse’srump,watchingthesteamcomeoutfromundertheblanketsastheteamcooleddownfromtheirrapidtrotupthelane.Itgavehimabetterappetite,heargued,thanplainfreshair,whichwasthinandhadnobodytoit.8.AbarnwithcattleandhorsesistheplacetobeginChristmas;afterall,that’swheretheoriginaleventhappened,andthatsamesmellwasthefirstairthattheChristChildbreathed.9.Bythetimewereachedthehouse,mymotherandsisterswerewearingapronsandbusyinginthekitchen,asred-facedasthewomenwhohadbeenthereallmorning.Thekitchenwasthebiggestroominthehouseandallfamilylifesavesleepingwentonthere.Myuncleevenhadacouchalongonewallwherehenappedandwherethechildrenlaywhentheywereill.ThekitchenrangewasatremendousblackandgleamingonecalledaSmokeEater,withpansbubblingovertheholesabovethefireboxandareservoirofhotwaterattheside,linedwithdullcopper,fromwhichmyunclewoulddipabasinofwaterandshaveabovethesink,turninghislatheredfacenowandthentodroparemarkintothewomen'stalk,wavinghisstraightedgedrazorasifitwereathreattomakethembelievehim.Myjobwastogotothewoodpileoutbackandkeepthefireburning,splittingthechunksofoakandhickory,watchinghowcleanlytheaxwentthroughthetoughwood.10.ItwasahandmadeChristmas.Thetreecamefromdowninthegrove,andonitweremanypaperornamentsmadebymycousins,aswellasbeautifulonesbroughtfromtheBlackForest,wherethefamilyhadoriginallylived.Therewerepopcornballs,fromcornplantedonthesunnyslopebythewatermelons,paperhornswithhomemadecandy,andapplesfromtheorchard.Thegiftstendedtobehand--knits