Christmas Memories

A few years ago, our museum team shared some of their favorite Christmas memories. The response from our readers was heartwarming, so we decided to share a few more with you this year. Perhaps our memories will remind you of some cherished ones of your own! We wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy 2024!

Of kiddie tables, coconut cake, and Froggy

By Rufus Adair

One set of my Christmas memories comes from the early-to-mid 1950s – ancient history to most folks but very real to me. I would have been 7, 8, 9 years old, somewhere in there.

Christmas night provides the setting, and I may be jumbling events from different years. Christmas night was when a passel of Mama’s kinfolks descended on our house. Eight, 10, maybe 12 adults and at least that many kids. If they were roughly the age of my parents or grandparents, they were “aunts” and “uncles.” If they were about my age, they were some kind of cousin.

Here, I will skip my grandmother’s Christmas coconut cake, though it deserves a chapter of its own.

Likewise, I will skip the kiddie tables back in the kitchen. For a kid, that was where the action was, where the fun was, where I figured I was learning how to be a teenager like my older cousins when I grew up.

I will also skip my five-year-old brother’s christening of his new Christmas pants. Brand new that morning. No hand-me-down. Corduroy, even. By evening they had been torched by a Roman candle.

It took some time, but it was another Christmas-night family gathering that I now recall with the most fondness. I’m guessing, but it was probably 1954, maybe 1955.

After dinner, the adults had adjourned to the front room which had a fire in the fireplace and a beat-up old pump organ buried over in the corner. The kiddie tables were in full swing back in the kitchen.

It was then that we back in the kitchen began to notice the unusual sounds coming from the front of the house. It was the sound of singing. They were singing, and with enthusiasm. Hymns, a couple of show tunes. The kids began quietly migrating up toward the front and the action.

Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Bill were the family performers, and they were leading the efforts. Aunt Marjorie was on the sorry old pump organ, her feet attacking the two pedals near the floor like it was a bicycle race, her fingers dancing up and down the keyboard (which sometimes responded with sounds, sometimes with nothing, sometimes just a wheeze), her head turned over her shoulder as she sang, sometimes glancing at husband Bill when they harmonized.

Uncle Bill stood near the fireplace, singing with a deep, rich baritone voice that must have started somewhere down near his navel.

Today, I can still recall the first couple of verses of his sly singing of an old folk song called “Froggie Went A-courtin’.”

“Froggie went a-courtin’, and he did ride. Uh-hum.

“Froggie went a-courtin’, and he did ride. Uh-hum, uh-hum.

“Froggie went a-courtin’, and he did ride, sword and a pistol by his side. Uh-hum, uh-hum, uh-hum.”

The second verse is much the same, except Froggie “goes up to Miss Mousey’s side” and asks her to “be my bride.” Several other verses should indicate a cautionary tale: it would take Froggie a lot more than the bluster of a sword and pistol and the flashing of a shiny rock to win Miss Mousey.

As I looked around the room that night, I absorbed a feeling. I can’t say it was a rational thought, but rather just a boy feeling something around him. Earlier, I had heard the adults say something about Bill being “back from Korea,” but it had meant little to me.

That night, in that room, there were feelings afloat. Of peace – no worries, no problems, no anxieties. Of pleasure, even joy – in each other’s company, of doing something together, of seeing Uncle Bill standing there in their midst again and singing about a frog and a mouse in his rich, deep baritone. It was a kind of celebration.

It was as if, maybe, just maybe, this is the way it is supposed to be.

Don’t Touch the Tree! Playpen to the rescue!

by Denise Lyle

When I was 6, my sister Sandra was born. She was the last sibling added to our family. I don't remember much about that Christmas except for listening to my 15-year-old brother talking to Momma and Daddy while they were at the hospital. My other brother and I were huddled around him trying to listen. Soon, he turned around and announced to us that we had a new baby sister!! We were very excited and couldn't wait to meet her.

By the next Christmas, baby Sandra had become a force to be reckoned with! We adored her! She was always curious and tried to keep up with the big kids, even when she was still crawling and learning how to walk. Soon it was Christmas time 1961 and time to decorate the Christmas tree with all the twinkling lights and ornaments. This was a big deal in our family. To keep Sandra safe while the rest of the family decorated the tree, Momma put her in her playpen so she could watch all the activity. By the time we finished, she was very angry having been put into a confined area while we were having fun.

After we swept up all the pine needles and cleaned up the area, Momma gave Sandra her freedom to roam again. In no time at all, Sandra crawled straight to the tree. We couldn't keep her from trying to pull up on the tree to see what this new Christmas tree was all about! We took turns holding her and letting her touch various parts of the tree and ornaments, thinking she would soon get bored. Every time we would walk away from the tree and put her down in another area of the room, she would crawl straight back to that tree.

I don't know how many times we had to rescue the Christmas tree from Sandra, but it was a lot! Sometimes we caught her just as the tree was leaning "way" over with Sandra trying to pull herself up by hanging onto one of the branches. There were a lot of close calls! Finally, in complete frustration, with us yelling "No. don't touch the tree!!", our mother sprang into action. She unplugged the Christmas lights, pulled the tree over to the side of the room, picked up the playpen and put it in the spot where the Christmas tree had been! Then, to our shock, she picked up the tree and plunked it down inside the playpen! Peace was restored! Sandra could happily pull herself up by hanging onto the side of the playpen but couldn't reach the tree. And the rest of us kids were able to stand down from guarding the tree!

This story became one of the favorite remembrances, and we repeated it at every Christmas family gathering for many years.

Painted Pinecones, Red Berries, and Paper Garlands

by Carillon Orban

I lived in Ohio until we started going back and forth to Bradenton, Florida when I was eight. My father hated snow. We started school in Florida, and in March, we went back to Ohio and finished the school year and stayed until the end of August.

The first year we were in Florida for Christmas, my parents realized they had forgotten to pack any Christmas decorations. My father wasn’t about to waste money on Christmas tree ornaments when we had plenty. They were just in the wrong place. So that year, our father took the three of us kids out in the woods to pick out a tree, which he cut down. We decorated it with pinecones we painted and glittered, stems of red berries from the bushes and garlands made of construction paper rings. It was the most beautiful tree!

Reindeer, Fruitcakes, and Cedar Trees

by Doris Moody

Growing up in the country on a dairy farm in Putnam County filled my little life with rich Christmas memories… from hunting for reindeer tracks in the dirt road that ran in front of our house to smelling the fruitcakes soaking in homemade wine in a lard can. Some years my paternal grandfather, William Thomas “Boo” Clopton, and I headed to the woods to get a Christmas tree. Now, everyone knows that in the woods a tree looks much smaller than it does in your living room, but no…young Miss Doris argued passionately that the lovely cedar tree her Papa had carefully selected was way too small. They stood there in the vast forest behind the old barn and continued their spat. Papa finally won out, sawed down the selected tree, and they trudged home with it. It almost touched the living room ceiling!

Homemade Eggnog

by Melanie & Craig

When we moved to Eatonton about 7 years ago, we knew we wanted the experience of raising chickens and having fresh eggs. It has been an experience all right! The flock provides us with plenty of entertainment but more importantly fresh eggs! We’ve made eggs just about every way you can cook an egg… scrambled, fried, over-easy, deviled, quiche, poached, soft-boiled, frittatas, breakfast tacos, and even shakshuka! Of course, I used them in cookies, brushed egg wash on top of crusts, as a dredge for fried green tomatoes, and even an egg white in cocktails! But our holiday tradition…something we’d never done before…is making homemade eggnog for the holiday season. It is a joint effort to temper the eggs just right… and whisk, whisk, whisk. The result is always a rich, creamy decadent treat that like most things… tastes so much better homemade!  We like to enjoy topped with whipped cream and nutmeg, sometimes with a splash of rum or bourbon. Tastes best when enjoyed in front of the woodburning stove on a cold winter’s night.  Cheers!