Wednesday, January 3, 2018


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Sunday, December 17, 2017

The Christ Childs Christmas

The Christ Child’s Christmas


Written by Elke von Schlosser


Illustrated with photographs of life-size figures designed, cut and painted by 
Elke von Schlosser and Harry Fanning

© 2017 Elke von Schlosser

Have you ever felt that sense of magic as Christmas draws near, that unexplainable feeling that something mysterious is about to happen?  You look around and see the same things you always saw, but they now look somehow strangely different. Everything around you seems to have taken on a new look.  The trees that just a few weeks ago were covered with brightly painted leaves now glisten leafless with the morning dew.  The brown earth under your feet is covered with a white veil. The blazing blue autumn sky studded with puffy white clouds is now a sultry grey, and there is a sense of anticipation all around you. Fires are lit in the hearth, wood smoke rises from the chimneys, and everyone seems to sense that something wonderful is about to take place.

Now it was at this magical and wonderful time of year that my grandmother used to tell me about the visit of the Christ Child.  My grandmother had heard it from her own mother, who heard it from her grandmother, and on and on back in time.  It is a very old story.  

My grandmother told me that the Christ Child comes to earth each year at Christmas time, just as he did many years ago, to visit the people of the earth, and bring them his message of love and peace. He comes each year to remind the people of God’s love for them.



Many many years ago, far too many to count, Our Father in heaven created our beautiful world.  He created the sun, moon and stars, and the earth we live on.  He created the fish in the sea and all the animals.  Everything in the heavens and upon the earth lived in perfect harmony, and the Lord saw that what he had created was very good. 

After a while though, Our Heavenly Father got a bit lonely.  He did enjoy watching the stars twinkle in the dark universe, and he liked watching the animals on the earth play and cavort with one another.  He saw how beautiful the mountains were that he had created and the waterfalls that rushed over the cliffs into great rivers.


He enjoyed the beautiful sunrises that each new day brought, and the sunsets that made the earth glow.  But our Heavenly Father wanted to share all this beauty with someone.  
               
He wanted someone to share it with him, and love it just as He loved the earth and all His creation.  He also wanted to have someone to love HIM, not just like a dog or cat loves someone, but with a profound and abiding love that comes from deep within a soul.  He decided that he would create a being that was more like Him, with a soul and heart that could love Him in return, and also to share his beautiful creation with.  And that is when he created the people that inhabit the earth.

Now Our Heavenly Father wanted the people to love Him of their own free will, not because He wanted them to but because they wanted to.  He wanted them to be grateful because He was such a great and wonderful Heavenly Father to them.  He wanted them to love Him back just as He loved them. 



But sadly the people of the earth sometimes forgot to love God back.  They got preoccupied with all the beautiful things He had given them, and forgot where they really came from.  They forgot to love their Heavenly Father and take good care of the beautiful earth and all the wonderful animals on it.  

They became greedy and selfish.  The people of the earth also forgot to trust in their Heavenly Father, and began fighting over the things he had given them.  God made sure there was plenty for everyone but they still fought amongst themselves. This made Him very sad, and even angry.  

Eventually he sent his Son Jesus down to earth to try and make people realize what was really important, which is to love one another and love God.  He sent his Son as a tiny child to bring Gods message of love and peace.  This tiny child was the baby Jesus, who grew up into a man who did many great things, and tried to help the people of the earth to understand how much our Heavenly Father loves us, far more than our own parents, children or friends ever could.


Now my grandmother told me that in a place far far away from here there lives a lively group of Christmas Elves.  All year long they await that exciting time of year just before Christmas, when they scurry about readying things for the arrival of Saint Nicholas and the Christ Child.  
They live in burrows deep in the earth, where they have set up their little toy factories.  
The factories are delightful happy places, where the elves scurry about building and cutting and painting and hammering, making all sorts of delightful gifts for the earth’s children. 

Around about December 6th which is St. Nicholas Day, the good Saint himself comes out to oversee what the elves are doing.  He carries a big brown sack which he fills with the finished toys in preparation to deliver them to the good children of the earth in time for Christmas with the help of the Christmas Angels.  His sack holds all kinds of wonderful presents and gifts that he has specially chosen for each little boy and girl on the earth.  Of course the children only get what he has chosen for them if they have been good.  
      
Now a Saint is a very special person who has done something really wonderful in their time on earth.  Saint Nicholas was a bishop who lived centuries ago, who was known for his love of children.  There is a famous story of how he left some poor children special gifts that they needed but could not afford for Christmas.  He also did many other wonderful things in his lifetime.


Sometimes God gives Saints (and there are quite a few of them) some special tasks to help the people on earth.  Saint Nicholas has been given the special task of bringing the spirit of Christmas to earth each year, as a reminder of God’s love for us. Saint Nicholas is known in some countries as Santa Claus!


On the first Sunday of Advent the elves make the Christmas pretzels.  They are made out of chocolate and are so delicious.  Each year they have a contest to see who can make the largest chocolate pretzel.  It is great fun but usually ends up with a big mess because the elves sing and dance about wildly, and eventually the giant pretzel breaks and spills chocolate all over the floor.           
                  
Then the elves clean up the mess and make themselves large cups of hot cocoa to enjoy with the pretzel pieces and go to bed early in order to get a good night’s rest and be ready for the next week of Christmas activities. The Christmas elves are funny looking little people.  You can usually tell that they are elves when you spot their red stocking caps.  They wear red caps so that they can spot one another in the deep snow, which surrounds the burrows where they live.







The older wiser elves also have long white beards. They have a lot of work to do to make sure that the younger elves are doing their jobs. 

The younger elves like to frolic and play a lot, and do not always pay attention to what they are supposed to be doing. 








Oftentimes the young elves can be found snoozing under trees, which makes the older elves very mad since there is so much work to do.  

There are always a few young elves sneaking out to take a nap, and with so much to do in such a short time the wise old elves have their hands full chasing after the younger ones.

 Saint Nicholas also relies on the Christmas Angels to let him know who has been naughty and who has been nice. 


The elves are far too busy in their factories deep in the forest to be able to watch how well the earth’s children are behaving.  

The Christmas Angels have a very good vantage point in the clouds from which to watch what is happening below. They can peer over the clouds to see what is going on here on earth.  

Anytime they hear a child shout or behave badly, they peek down to see what is going on.  Of course they also make notes of when children have been especially good, which helps to cancel out the bad behaviors on their record.
  
The Christmas Angels love the earth’s children so much, that they try very hard not to notice when the children are being bad.  They prefer to be able to tell Saint Nicholas that all the children have been behaving very well that year, especially around Christmas time.  If they see that the little girls and boys are trying to help their parents by being polite and cooperative, they are very happy. 

The Elves get a lot of help preparing for Christmas from the Angels, who do their preparations up in the clouds.  There they have all manner of tasks to accomplish before the big holiday arrives.  Christmas Angels come in all shapes and sizes.  There are short ones, thin ones, fat little ones and big round ones who usually are in charge of the baking.  They are big and round because they like to taste all the goodies that come out of the ovens in which they bake the Christmas cookies and make the Christmas candy. 


The steam from their ovens and stoves creates the wispy clouds you see in the sky on winter evenings, and the red light from their oven fires can be seen reflecting off of the clouds at twilight.  In the evening they start to fire up their ovens, which produce a rosy glow on the clouds. Sometimes when they are really busy there is so much steam that it fogs up the fields and towns. In the mornings when the people of the earth wake up, there is fog and mist that has spread all the way down to the earth.

Each Angel is given an assignment to make some special preparation for Christmas.  Some make the decorations for the Christmas trees; some make the Christmas candles, and others are in charge of shaking the snow off of the clouds, so that it will fall to earth and make everything white and beautiful below.  If their ovens get too hot then the snow becomes rain, which is not as nice as snow but the animals and plants like it better as it is not so cold! 

Some of the Angels sing in the heavenly choir, which all the other Angels get to hear while they are cooking and baking and scurrying about. Sometimes the people on earth can hear them singing too! There are many other tasks that the Angels have but they are too numerous to tell. 




Mostly they have a lot of fun even when they are very very busy in the months leading up to Christmas. 

On the second Sunday of Advent, the Christmas Angels have a big cookie baking contest.  All the older Angels line up to sample the recipes of the younger Angel bakers. 

Then a prize is given for the best cookie.  After the prize is awarded all the Angels feast upon the cookie samples until they are quite full.







On the third Sunday of Advent, the children of the elves are now becoming quite excited about Christmas drawing so near.  

They are especially helpful to their mothers and fathers, and try not to fight with their sisters or brothers. They know that their parents have such a lot to do to get everything ready for Christmas Day. 

They do not want to disappoint the children on the earth. They make sure that their warm Christmas overcoats are good and ready for their procession to visit the Christ Child on Christmas Eve.  They help their parents whenever they are asked. They help to wrap the toys in brightly covered packages, and it is a good thing that there are so many elf children, because there are so very many packages to wrap for all the good children of the earth.


When Christmas Eve finally arrives everyone is awaiting the grand procession to the manger of the Christ Child.  





All the elf children put on their warmest overcoats, and their tall galoshes, and get their candles ready for the parade to the manger where the Christ Child will be waiting for them.  

They light their lanterns which are in whimsical shapes of like stars and moons that will light their way through the dark forest to where the Christ Child will be waiting for them.

Deep in the forest the Angels gather with the elves.                  
The Angels will have put all their work aside, and put on their most beautiful blue robes.  
They have combed their hair, and polished up their wings, and washed their rosy and happy faces. 

They come down to earth and sing joyfully together to welcome the Christ Child back to the earth another year. They line up one by one and begin singing beautiful Christmas carols. 



Their voices sing in lovely harmony together.  Animals such as deer, rabbits and tiny birds all come to see what is happening.  They marvel at the lovely procession which quietly moves through the forest, lit only by the glow of candles.  The ice and snow on the tree branches glistens like little Christmas lights and it is a magical scene to behold. 



Finally they see the stable where the Christ Child awaits them in the forest.    Cows, and even a donkey are there watching over him.  A flock of sheep stands nearby, and doves coo in the rafters.  There might even be a couple of hens there.  




Nobody wants to miss this magical event. They can see the Christ Child’s happy little face. 

He laughs and giggles with delight. 

The Christ Child is surrounded by all kinds of animals from the stable.   Of course the Angel Gabriel is there, and also the Angel Michael, who always accompany the Christ Child back to earth for Christmas Eve.   

They are there to watch over him and make sure he stays warm.







The Christ Child is always delighted when he hears from Saint Nicholas’ about how well behaved the children on the earth have been that year.  

He looks at the good Saint’s big brown sack and sees it bulging with all sorts of delightful presents, and he knows that this will be a good Christmas for all. 



Whenever he hears the report that the earths children have tried to behave and obey their parents, the Christ Child smiles and laughs.  He is especially happy to hear when a child has been extra good that year.  It makes him very happy.

When the Angel Michael and Angel Gabriel see that the report from Saint Nicholas is finished, they know that the Christ Child is ready for a good night’s rest. 

They thank all the Angels and elves for a wonderful job they have done in preparation for Christmas. 

Then everyone goes home and takes a long winters nap.

Of course by then it is morning on the earth, and the earth’s children are delighted with their packages and gifts.  They are so excited with all the presents that they sometimes forget to thank the Christ Child for the wonderful gifts he has given them. 

That is when their good mothers and fathers remind them to be thankful, which makes the Christ Child very happy.

And so each year the Christ Child pays a visit to the earth, and each year the elves and Angels come to greet him.                  

 And if you listen carefully outside on Christmas Eve, you might hear them singing somewhere in the far off distance:

“GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, 

AND PEACE TO HIS PEOPLE ON EARTH”

Now some people may say this is only a legend, and some say it is true.  
No one knows for sure.  

There are many mysterious and magical things that we do not know or understand…and so we must BELIEVE.    

And there you have the story of Christmas and the Christ Child as it was told to me by my grandmother so many many years ago…



53

Saturday, December 9, 2017

One Gold Rush Country Christmas

 One Gold Rush Country Christmas











Elke von Schlosser
© 2014 Elke von Schlosser



Story dedicated to my cowboy friend Reno and his horse "Whiskey" ...
who are both the true spirit of Christmas... every day!

Jim’s car slid to a sudden halt as it slammed irreverently into the snowbank that had just minutes before been the major thoroughfare between the small rural towns of Kelsey and Georgetown in the north-western part of the California Gold Rush country.  He looked around to see if anyone was hurt and frowned when he saw his brand new car more than half buried in the snowdrift.    

For as long as he could remember he had wanted a luxury car and seeing his recently fulfilled dream sticking out of the snowbank like the blade of a knife made him wish he was just having a really bad dream.  The sharp contrast between his black beauty and the white snow made him wince all the more.  As he shook his head in disbelief he secretly admitted to himself that he should have heeded the persistent warnings about the blizzard that was due to dump snow at unusually low elevations.  But that proved little consolation when he thought how often the weather forecasts were the butt of office jokes. 

Jim­­ and his children had been on their annual pilgrimage to the country to cut their Christmas tree.  Normally they picked the weekend after Thanksgiving to trek up to the country, but this year his schedule had not allowed him to leave the office until the weekend before Christmas.  The kids had been more than annoyed that it was taking “forever” to get their fathers tree, and Jim was not going to let anything get in the way of their final chance that year to procure the sapling…not even the weather.  Not wanting to fight the freeway traffic, the back roads towards home had seemed like a good idea. Now he felt uncertain that it had been a wise decision.  Jim became increasingly worried watching the snow coming down with more intensity by the minute. 

Brilliant blue skies that had greeted them as they drove out to the country from their upscale suburban home in the San Francisco Bay Area.  But Jim had had an increasingly foreboding feeling as the day wore on and he watched the clouds darkening all afternoon.  He and his children had spent the afternoon driving from one picturesque ranch to another in the popular Apple Farm area near Placerville for that time honored quest that so many families made each year to find the “perfect” Christmas tree.  

An assembly of local ranchers had banded together many years before to attract city folks to the countryside with the promise of an unforgettable day in the country during the pumpkin, apple picking and Christmas seasons.  Wildly popular, the farms attracted people who came from as far away as San Francisco and beyond.   From early September through Christmas Eve, determined families traversed the neatly manicured fields to pick their pumpkins, cut their trees and breathe deeply of the fresh clean clear country air in the beautiful foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains East of San Francisco.  The region and its surrounding spattering of historic gold rush towns, upscale boutique wineries and scenic country roads provided visitors with plenty of family friendly photo opportunities.  On fall weekends tourists could be seen snaking their way patiently through the picturesque roads and byways, cameras in hand, looking for pumpkins and those ubiquitous slices of pie a la mode that would remain etched in their minds and framed on their desks as a treasured memory in perpetuity. Romantic couples or friends on weekend getaways enjoyed wine tasting at the ever increasing number of elegant wineries and breweries that dotted the area, or perused the myriad of little shops containing unique one-of-a-kind treasures one could almost never find in more urban areas.
It was indeed the stuff that memories were made of and Jim was keeping the tradition started by his own parents of making a yearly outing to find their Christmas tree and etch another notch in the album of family tradition.  His kids would call out with delight, reminding their father that this farm or that ranch was where they just had to stop to enjoy some local specialty…hot apple pie, apple fritters, apple donuts or countless other local specialties which were washed down with a hearty helping of hot apple cider or steamy cocoa.  In fact at the end of the apple excursion they all felt that they had eaten enough apple treats to last them until next year if not beyond.  And even with his busy schedule, Jim had somehow found the time each year for this annual event, looking forward to this ritual which had begun when he himself was just a small boy.

Despite the increasing clouds and gathering gloom, the perfect tree was eventually found and tied with great care to the top of the car so as not to put a scratch on his newly acquired possession.    Now Jim shook his head in disbelief at the grim situation he found his family in, and the car was the least of his worries.  His cell phone proved no use on the rural roads.  The snow began falling even harder and it was getting colder by the minute.  He knew that there was no chance of getting a tow on this now deserted road that he had earlier proclaimed was a “shortcut”.  Outdoor survival was not a skill that he had mastered nor had he seen the need to do so.  He was a busy executive who barely had time to take a break from his business pursuits and it was only because his children had begged him repeatedly to take them to the country that he had agreed to put aside the day to keep this hallowed family tradition alive… despite some looming deadlines at work.

As he surveyed the increasingly serious situation a sense of panic began to overtake him.  
His children needed him for guidance, and he was determined to put on a show of strength despite his fear that what had begun as a lighthearted outing was rapidly becoming a very serious situation.

 “We need to find somewhere to stay for the night” he instructed his shivering clan.

 “I thought I saw a light on a few minutes ago down the road” said the youngest of his children.  

“Let’s try to walk back to where the road curved and see if we can spot the light.” 

Jim knew that leaving the safety of the car might be unwise, but he saw no alternative and quickly determined that with every darkening minute staying with the stranded car was no longer an option. He gathered his little band and headed on foot in the direction from which they had come.
It seemed like forever before one of the children shouted “Look, Look, I see a light” and they all trudged in the direction of the barely visible glow that appeared to beckon them through the cascade of falling snow.

In the waning twilight the faded door of the rustic home looked tired and shabby, and except for the warm glow emanating from the front window there did not appear to be any sign of life.  No barking dogs, no footprints in the snow, no smoke climbing upwards from the chimney.  They ran to the cabin ahead.

Jim became even more anxious now and started knocking vigorously on the door.  He knocked harder and harder and then began wildly banging the door like a man frantic for an answer.  In desperation he tried the knob and to his surprise it moved and the door opened with a low groan, as if it hadn’t been opened for ages.  He let out a sigh of relief.

Inside the scene mirrored the sparse exterior of the abode.  A wooden table showed many years of wear and tear and it seemed more like a work bench than a table.  A large couch faced the dark hearth, and in the glow from the one oil lamp they had seen from the window the profile of an old rocking chair could be spotted in the corner of the room.  Jim called out to see if anyone was about but there was no answer.  The temperature inside mirrored that of the outdoors and was steadily dropping with each passing moment.  Jim knew that there was not much time to get his family situated and there did not appear to be any phone to call for help.  Besides the roads were clearly impassible even if help could have been located.

In the corner next to the hearth they spotted some firewood, and Jim tried to recall how to light a fire.  It was a skill he had learned from his Boy Scout days long ago and hopefully not forgotten. His own home had fireplaces that operated with the click of a switch, and knowing how to start a fire the old-fashioned way was a skill he was suddenly very grateful to have learned.  As the fire grew in intensity the flames licked the sooty walls of the hearth and he began to breathe a small sigh of relief.  The soft flicker spread through the room and he glanced around at the space that surely would be their home for the night.

Although simple, the home was clean and comfortable.  A small closet off to the side seemed well stocked with canned food, a few mismatching dishes, and thankfully a can opener.   Jim quipped off a quick “Thank You God” and proceeded to open a few cans.  He supposed that it would be OK with whoever owned the cabin that they helped themselves to a meal considering the circumstances, and cans of beef stew, green beans and corn were hastily warmed in a pan over the now cheerfully glowing flames.  Of course he would leave behind a more than adequate sum of money to cover any inconvenience to the owner should he or she not show up before they left.

Jim was surprised that his children were so calm and cooperative despite the obvious discomforts brought about by this unexpected turn of events. He sensed that now that they were out of immediate danger they had taken a decidedly positive outlook on what was proving to be a real adventure.  He was more than pleased that despite everything they had not grumbled much.  He sensed that they were just plain happy to be together; something that was nearly impossible in the life they had temporarily left behind.  They were probably aware, consciously or not, that their mishap was giving them some precious time to be together which would not have happened had they sped back towards home at the end of the day.

Even Jim secretly took pleasure with the fact that his deadlines would now have to be missed in favor of spending time with his children, and time with his children was what he desired the most in the world on those days when he could peek out over the fog that had become his daily life and see what really mattered more clearly.  Throughout the afternoon his mind had wandered back like a boomerang to his work, his office, his deadlines…stealthily tugging him away from the happy scene he had found himself in, and robbing him of that joy like it did all too often.  It was only the persistent laughter of his young children that had brought his attention back to the outing that he had so much looked forward to all year.

A small room off to the side of the main room held a bed big enough for the children to share if they didn’t mind snuggling together, and snuggling suddenly seemed like the obvious choice given the chill in the room.  Jim stretched out on the couch in front of the fire and it wasn’t long before the only sound was the gentle breathing of sleepy children and the flames slowly dying into embers.  Jim threw one last log onto the fire for good measure and turned his head into the pillow.                
 He whispered a quick “Thanks” and looked up towards the ceiling. 

The following morning the squeal of young voices abruptly woke Jim out of his slumber, and he jumped up trying to remember where he was and how he had gotten there.  His children were bounding out the door into the wintery white snow-scape, clearly oblivious like children often are to the real tenor of the situation.  Indeed the night had brought them the gift of a magical world of snow & ice, but unlike his children, Jim was not as pleased.  It quickly became clear to him that they were not going anywhere soon, and he felt the urgent need to assess the situation to determine exactly where they were and what to do.  He wondered where the cabins owner was, why the light had been left on with no one there, and why no one had returned in the night.  He could only imagine that the cabins owner had likewise been caught out by the storm, and was intending to return just as soon as the weather cleared up enough to allow it.  In the meantime there was little that they could do but stay put and make the best of what could have been a much more terrifying situation had they not spotted the light in the window.

The children had begun to make a snowman and Jim was happy to see them preoccupied while he searched for some breakfast supplies.  Once again the pantry proved more than adequate and a box of cereal and some canned milk was procured.    It was clear to him that whoever lived there did not intend to go hungry.

Jim planned to feed the kids and trek back to the road to see if it had been plowed yet.  It was his intention to sleep in his own bed at the end of the day and to put their adventure to rest in the annuals of their family history as nothing more than a gentle hiccup in what had otherwise been a well-orchestrated plan to spend much needed time bonding with the kids. It would be a good story to tell his office mates.   Surely the snow plows were marching towards their location with dogged determination by now, and in short order they would be back on track and on their way home.
The snow proved deeper than expected and the roads were probably impenetrable.  The spot where he thought he had left his car was not to be found and not wanting to go too far from the cabin Jim decided that risking going down the road made no sense anyway.  It was clear that no one was going anywhere in any motorized vehicle anytime soon, and from the look of the gray skies things were only getting worse. 

When he returned to the cabin Jim thought it wise to find some more logs for the fire.   A shed out back contained carefully stacked logs just waiting for the fireplace.  The glowing embers had miraculously lasted through the night…for the most part because his scout troop leader had taught them how to bank a fire.   The cabin now seemed quite warm compared to the temperature outside.
 It had not taken anyone long to become accustomed to walking the short distance to the outhouse (a word that the children had never even heard of before that day)  and everyone seemed to be in surprisingly happy spirits given the situation.  In fact Jim could not remember when he had felt this content in a long time.  They had provisions, they had shelter, and they were together.  The outside world seemed as distant as last year’s news and Jim decided that he too would just have to make the best of it.  There was really no point in doing otherwise.

As the afternoon wore on the initial excitement of the adventure wore off and the children began to miss their phones, electronic games and friends back home.  Jim was dreading the impending meltdown knowing full well that his kids were not used to entertaining themselves… they were used to being entertained.  Once the novelty of country fun wore off they would be expecting the fast track entertainment they had been raised on.  Anyone or anything that got between his kids and their electronic devices was taking their chances.       

Jim was a good father when he was around.  But that was not all that often, and he was no expert on entertaining children, having left that to his former wife and a series of weekend babysitters that had paraded through his home for years.  It was only rarely that he was left completely alone with the children and he suddenly felt quite unprepared for the duties at hand.

“Let’s put up a Christmas Tree” he suggested hoping the children would be excited at the prospect. 

“But there are no ornaments, no lights, what should we use for decorations?” they asked.

“Well let’s find a tree and search around for what we can find to decorate it with” stated Jim.

It wasn’t long before a small tree was found, and Jim chopped it down with the ax he had found next to the pile of kindling.  The kids scavenged the area around the cabin and found some “treasures” to hang on its branches.  Pine cones and red berries were carefully hung and it wasn’t long before the tangle of twigs began to transform into the semblance of a Christmas tree more reminiscent of the one in the Charlie Brown cartoons than in Country Living magazine.
 
Between trimming the tree and warming up another can of lunch, the afternoon wore on and it was only when the light outside began to grow dimmer that Jim realized that twilight was near.  Where had the day gone anyway?

He had half dreaded what he thought was going to be a miserable day of dealing with bored and unhappy children, unable to hand them over to an experienced babysitter and scurry out the door with the excuse of office deadlines putting the stamp of approval on his disappearance.  Yet the day had turned out amazingly well despite his trepidation.

The kids spotted a couple of well-worn decks of playing cards and a few other games tucked away in a corner of the room.  Jim had to really stretch his memory back to a time when he played cards with his roommates in college.  Luckily a good memory had always served him well and he was able to teach the kids a few games that kept them entertained for a few more hours.                                                                                                                             
Jim was surprised that the kids had so much fun together.  For a change they were really laughing and playing with one another despite their differences in age.  Eventually he carried them one by one into the small darkened bedroom to put them to rest for the night.  If all went well he would be able to get them all out of there in the morning.  Surely the roads would be cleared by then.
Sometime in the night Jim was awakened by the shuffle of footsteps on the front porch and the turning of the knob on the door.  His heart skipped a beat wondering if it was an angry owner, a hungry bear or perhaps just another stranded traveler.  No sooner had he opened his eyes than a dark figure loomed over him as he lay prone on the couch afraid to move.  Jim heard the click of a trigger pressed into service, a sound he only recognized from all the Sunday afternoon westerns he had watched as a kid.  His heart beat so wildly he thought it would jump right out of his shirt.

“Ev’nin” said the intruder in a low grumble.  “I see you have made yourself right at home. 
 A feller can’t even go away for a couple of days without squatters taking over nowadays” he quipped.

Jim lay motionless, afraid to upset the looming figure of the man who was aiming a pistol way too close to his face. 

“I am sorry sir but my kids and I were stranded in the snowstorm and we saw the light on in the window.  
We knocked and found the door open.  We don’t mean any harm.  I have cash to pay you for the food we ate and anything else you want us to pay for” he said in a pleading tone of voice.

The figure un-cocked his gun and returned it to the holster at his side.  He surveyed the room and walked to the opening where the bed stood.  There he saw a jumble of small arms and heads protruding irreverently from the blankets heaped high over the outlines of small bodies.  Apparently satisfied he turned to face Jim who by now had regained some color on his previously pallid complexion. 

“That’s a mighty big bunch of arms & legs in there” the stranger quipped.  “Nevada’s the name…Nevada Thompson”.

The man reached out a powerful hand and Jim, still in the prone position, pulled his hand out from under his blanket like a child peeking out from under the covers after a nightmare.  He was almost afraid to get up for fear he might feel light-headed.   Once he regained the ability to do so he found himself standing in front of a tall well-built man dressed entirely in black with long hair protruding from his cowboy hat.  A neatly trimmed western-style moustache, beard and sideburns made the stranger look like he just stepped out of a sepia-tone photo from the 1800’s.    Jim reached out his trembling hand and replied: “Jim Sanders…my name is Jim Sanders”.

Nevada walked across the room and threw open a set of what Jim had thought to be shutters.  To his surprise a giant head appeared out of the darkness beyond, and the nose of what was unmistakably a large black horse found its way into the room through the opening. 

“This is Mustang…Mustang meet Jim” said Nevada.    


The horse obediently stretched out his long head and nuzzled Jim with the end of his nose.  
Jim shrunk back never having been comfortable with large creatures the size of a horse, especially finding one who was now halfway extended into the room.

“He won’t hurt you” Nevada chuckled. 
 “He’s as friendly as they come.  
Loves to be indoors with people.  I ride him right into the Hangman’s tree in Placerville where we are known to share a beer or two on a hot summer’s night.   
In winter he prefers a chug of whiskey”. 

Jim peered into the darkness beyond Mustang’s head and saw a neatly appointed stall clearly meant as the horses’ part of the cabin.  The cabin temperature had plummeted when the cold air from the stall swept into the room.  Clearly neither Nevada nor Mustang took any notice, and they both seemed perfectly happy in the frigid temperature outside. 

The man brought out a few more oil lamps from a storage bin and began to place them around the room.  The gentle light that filled the cabin showed Jim things that he had not seen before.  For one there was a pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room that had escaped Jim’s attention.  In his haste to warm the cabin he somehow had not noticed the stove.  Nevada unearthed it from under some things he was “storing” in the corner and soon had it piping hot with a pot of rich dark coffee bubbling merrily away on the burners. 

“Fireplaces are for flatlanders” he remarked after having put his cabin aright.  “They look nice but make no sense in the cold.  Just a waste of wood in my mind.  A proper stove is what a body needs to be warm in the mountains”.

Jim nodded in agreement and felt grateful for the warmth and the light and the sweet smell of hay emanating from Mustangs stall.  He also felt a whole lot better knowing that someone, anyone, had appeared on the scene.  He was beginning to worry about how long it would take for them to find help and now it seemed that help had arrived on their doorstep.

“Have you heard when this weather is going to clear up?” asked Jim as the man proceeded to pour the two of them steaming cups of coffee without even asking him if he wanted some.

 It seemed that Nevada just had a sense that Jim would appreciate a kind gesture, and was not going to refuse anything that reminded him of the civilized life he had left behind…even if it wasn’t a Starbucks Latte.   

Hot coffee now sounded oh so good to Jim even if it was the middle of the night. 

“I reckon it looks like it’s not going to let up till after the weekend, at least that’s what Mustang tells me and Mustang is always right about the weather aren’t you boy?” asked Nevada in that ever so slight drawl that distinguishes country folk from the “flatlanders”.  

The horse pawed his hay with approval.  Jim looked on with astonishment because it seemed the man and his horse had a strange rapport.

“So Mustang is a weather man” Jim quipped.  “I am sure he is much more accurate than the Channel 5 guys”  

He reminded himself secretly that had he heeded the Channel 5 guys weather warnings he wouldn’t be sitting in a remote mountain cabin across from a horse that doubled as a weather man!

Jim sensed that Nevada was a man of few words, more used to talking to his horse than with humans, and he seemed in no rush to engage in conversation.  Jim had to be content to watch him settle back into the rocking chair with his coffee and a stick of jerky.  He was curious about this man who had appeared to come in from the snow out of nowhere with his jet black horse like a storybook character, but sensed that Nevada was not the kind of man who was anxious to share his history.  There was undoubtedly more to him than a few stories over an open fire would reveal, and Jim wished he had the chance to really delve into the secrets that the cowboy must have held close to his chest. 

After some time Nevada asked Jim: “How’d you happen upon this place?”

Jim proceeded to tell Nevada about the accident and his desire to return home before Christmas.  The kids needed to be back; office deadlines were looming, his former wife would be frantic and besides he just plain wanted to go home. 

Nevada nodded with a twinkle in his eye that gave Jim the strange sensation that the man he was sharing the night with had more to him than his horse and cowboy ways alluded to. 

“You get a good night’s rest and tomorrow I’ll take you into town where you and the kids can get properly situated for the duration” he said.  “There’s no leaving the hills for a couple of days now but I can get you into town where you will be more comfortable.”

Nevada pulled a blanket over himself and before Jim could offer him the couch as a bed he heard the man drift off into a deep sleep.  Jim could hear Mustang chewing the last of his hay, finally finishing his meal with a loud snort.

 Looking back on the turn of the day’s events was like recalling a distant dream, and Jim marveled how it had actually come full circle from the nightmare he had expected.  It wasn’t long before he too was fast asleep along with all those who were now resting comfortably in the warm and cozy cabin along the side of the road in the California foothills.

Jim awoke to the delighted shrieks of his children who had discovered Mustang leaning into the cabin, pulling his blankets off of and tossing things about the room like a seal tosses a fish at feeding time.  The horse it seemed had a sense of humor and delighted in surprising people and playing pranks on them.  Nevada had trained him to count to three, to bow and to answer yes or no.  It seemed that there was no end to the entertainment that the black horse could offer the strangers in his cabin.

In the light of day Mustang proved to be a handsome horse of significant size; jet black with a splendid crested neck and long mane & tail.  His heavy coat proved why he was not cold in the snow or winter weather, and as Nevada led him out into the morning sun his shiny hide showed him to be a fine animal in good condition. 

After a hearty breakfast of hot oatmeal Nevada told everyone to gather their things for the trek into town.   He tied Mustang to a post with a handful of hay to munch on, and proceeded to hook up the horse to a kind of sledge.

 The town of Georgetown was several miles down the road and in the heavy snow the going would be too difficult for the children.  Mustang was willing to oblige by pulling them with the sledge while Jim and the cowboy went on foot.

The morning wore on with Mustang struggling valiantly to pull the sledge without turning it over and just about the time that Jim thought he had lost all feeling in his toes Nevada pointed towards a dark spot between the trees. 

“This is as far as I go” he said.  “If you head on into town and to the far end of the street, you’ll find the Gold Rush Inn on your left.  The proprietors there will be able to put you up until you can get things sorted out”.       

Jim tried to encourage Nevada to accompany them to the Inn hoping to buy him a hot meal, but the man only smiled his uncanny smile that looked like a cross between Santa Claus and the Grinch, and stated that he and his horse had important business to attend to before Christmas.
Jim was naturally curious about what he was alluding to but before he knew it the kids were bounding in the direction of the town.  Jim bade Nevada & Mustang a thankful farewell and handed the cowboy two $100 bills wrapped together with a rubber band, the sight of which made Nevada’s eyes roll around in his head. 


Jim shouted at the kids to wait for him as he watched them scamper on towards town as best as they could through the deep snow that held everything in its grip.   The terrain was easy for the kids to traverse…it would be less so for Jim.  He turned to shake hands and give Mustang a pat on the shoulder but the cowboy and his horse were both strangely gone.  Gone?  How was it possible for a horse with a sledge and a cowboy to have vanished in just a few distracted moments? Sure the snow was falling steadily but to have them vanish seemed more than odd to Jim.

 However his young and energetic charges were running off in the direction of town and Jim needed to be quick on their heels or lose them altogether and there was no time for sentiment or contemplation. Still the image of the tall mysterious stranger and his dark horse lingered in the recesses of Jim's mind for longer than he cared to admit.
                                                                                                            
The outline of the historic Gold Rush Inn, its gingerbread woodwork glistening in the noonday sun, was a welcome sight to the now weary travelers.  It appeared at the end of what seemed to Jim to be an inordinately wide thoroughfare, but it turned out the wide streets were the result of a desire not to repeat the disastrous effects of the fires that decimated Georgetown before the turn of the century.  
As he neared the imposing structure, Jim wasn’t even going to think about anything but getting into a hot bath and pouring a warm drink down his gullet.  He had never wanted a hot soak as much as he did now, and he hoped that the three story structure that looked to be an old fashioned hotel would have at least one cavernously deep claw-foot tub he could luxuriate in.

The kids were already in the lobby when Jim joined them, trying to catch his breath.  A classic hotel from the gold rush period, its Victorian charm welcomed the stragglers with open arms.  The current proprietors had cared for the “grand old dame” with loving attention for years.  The children were already chatting it up with the proprietor and his wife, firing words at them with the rapidity of a machine gun, and poor Mr. Williams had to tell them to slow down and speak one at a time so he could understand what they were saying. 

The hotel was choc- a-bloc full of stranded travelers, and the proprietors were hard pressed to find a room that could accommodate the whole bunch.  Eventually Mr. Williams and his wife agreed to rent Jim and his family a small room that was not really in service because it had some peculiar issues with a heater that had a mind of its own.  They were not really sure if it was a faulty valve or an itinerant ghost but whatever it was the room was only rented as an absolute last resort under normal circumstances.  Still, there appeared to be nothing normal to Jim about this trip, about the sudden storm or about any part of the past few days and Jim was most pleased to have a place to take a hot bath and rest the heads of his now weary band of nomads. 

They checked into their room and were instructed to meet downstairs at precisely 5pm that evening for a social hour followed by a special event at the local hall just down Main Street. Tonight the whole town would be turning out for a caroling party, accompanied by homemade soups and a plethora of cakes, cookies, pies and desserts that the local ladies made for the annual Christmas bake sale.  The money from the bake sale went to buy gifts for some of the families in town that were struggling financially.  It was a good cause and everyone turned out to support the event.

Having luxuriated in an old-fashioned tub so full of bubbles that he thought he would begin to float upwards towards the ceiling, Jim felt revived and ready for another chapter in their adventure.  Heading downstairs he heard the hotel staircase creak from the burden of thousands of footsteps they had supported over the 150 years or so that they had been pressed into service.  Jim felt somehow comforted by the lovely old-world decor and historic sepia tone photographs that greeted him as he passed down the hallway.  It was obvious that the old girl had been quite glamorous for her day.
The formal parlor where they were to meet downstairs was lit with candles and gas lamps, lending an old-fashioned charm to the scene, and the flicker of tiny lights on the soaring Christmas tree in the corner almost took his breath away.  He walked over to inspect the hundreds of ornaments that had been hung with flawless precision, and wondered what stories each and every one of them could tell if only he had the time to listen.          
                             
“Good evening Jim…are we feeling revived?” asked Mr. Williams with a twinkle in his eye that curiously resembled the one he had seen on Nevada’s face earlier that afternoon, although it didn’t have that same “Grinch-like” aspect to it.  Jim did a double take
.
“Yes sir, that’s quite a tub you have in that bathroom.  Just what the Doctor ordered you might say”.   
 
Mr. Williams beamed with delight as he always did when a guest expressed pleasure about any aspect of their stay.  He and his wife had made it their life’s work to bring a joyful and unforgettable experience to every one of the unsuspecting travelers that appeared on their doorstep.  
Unsuspecting because travelers assumed that a backwater Inn like theirs would only afford them at most a well-worn mattress and a hard pillow.  But judging from the reviews of the Inn, the outside world truly appreciated all that they afforded their visitors.  Mr. and Mrs. Williams took extreme pleasure in making sure each person had whatever they needed, and their uncanny ability to pre-empt the needs and desires of travelers was legendary.  It seemed that no matter what a guest had need of, the cavernous nooks & crannies at the Inn would produce at least one of them.  Perhaps it was just that the Inn had collected so many lost and found items over the years, or perhaps it was something more uncanny. 

In addition, Mr. Williams was known as an unsurpassed repository of countless jokes.  He could make you laugh even if you did not want to, even if you tried your darndest not to, and guests charmed by his good humor and his wife’s excellent cooking returned year after year for a glimpse of old-fashioned yesteryear and a break from the busy word outside “The Divide”-  as this area between the North and South forks of the American River had come to be known.   

Mr. and Mrs. Williams also had the uncanny reputation of being far older than they appeared.  
For years now guests swore that neither of them seemed to have gotten any older.  In fact those that knew them, both locals and visitors, could swear that they gave the impression of being almost frozen in time.  Jim glanced at some photos on the walls of the proprietors and their guests, some of which were clearly from a much earlier time, and he could see that neither the lines on their faces nor their general appearance had changed even the slightest.

Jim thought it strange but his attention was quickly diverted by a toast called for by the host and hostess to celebrate the start of what promised to be a wonderful evening of music, food and community spirit.  Mrs. Williams had poured everyone some eggnog and Mr. Williams was pouring something a bit stronger into the glasses of the adults, which he claimed was the secret elixir that kept him looking and feeling so young … along with the good fresh air in the foothills.  It tasted like a really good Kentucky bourbon to Jim but who was he to doubt Mr. Williams and his recipe from the fountain of youth? 

Jim was afraid to consider how it was even possible that this charming couple seemed so ageless when his attention was drawn to the other side of the room where a crowd had gathered amidst a flurry of activity on the part of the hostess.  Although there were now quite a few mysterious things that needed a good explanation, Jim earmarked them for further analysis when he returned home.  
His list of seemingly unexplained phenomena was getting longer!

Mrs. Williams had set out quite a spread on the sideboard, and it became clear that no one would go hungry that night.  Lit by a myriad of tiny candles, Jim spotted favorites from his youth, treats that he had not seen since the days when his mother hosted their annual family holiday celebrations.  Simple delicious treats unlike the complex creations touted by aspiring chefs that were served at the upscale parties Jim attended back home.

Here were the crackers & dips he remembered from his childhood, the pate he recalled his mother slathering onto toast points, various canapés, cheese balls, cocktail wieners, onion dip with potato chips, ham puffs and meatballs like his grandmother used to make with her precious recipe brought back from the “old country”.  There was so much Jim had forgotten, or maybe just pushed back into the recesses of his mind.  And there, right in the middle of the whole smorgasbord was the piece de la resistance…a giant plate full of creamy devilled eggs.  His favorite!  Jim hadn’t seen nor tasted food like this in years.  He dug in like a hungry soldier back from the front.  Despite his penchant for “gourmet” food it all tasted soooo good.   
                                                              
The mood was merry and Jim was tempted to pinch himself wondering if he had hit his head a bit too hard when his car landed in the snowbank.  He couldn’t recall a time in the recent past when he had felt so light hearted and happy.  Before the mishap he had been tense, driven, almost ravenous for success. 

Back home the desire for success drove his every waking moment, colored his relationships and dictated his activities.  Now he felt like he was content to simply see what the evening would bring.  For tonight he was more than happy to live in the moment, to experience not what he orchestrated, but what he was being served.  It felt good to let go of his need to control, to direct everything, to focus.   
An ancient brass hand bell rung by Mrs. Williams signaled their impending departure towards the community hall down the street.  The icy cold night was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the fireside they had just left at the Inn.  The streets had been decorated with dozens of Christmas trees along the sidewalks, and there was not a window or doorway that did not display a wreath or bow.  Along the side streets houses dating back to the gold rush were festooned in holiday décor.  The wind was still and they peered up into the cold clear night sky.  The stars that twinkled in the distance seemed to sparkle just for their amusement.  They looked like millions of tiny diamonds on a backdrop of darkened velvet. It was magical.    

The short walk took them to the entrance of a grand old building at the other end of town.  Its high paned glass windows framed their homemade pine wreaths laced with big red ribbons that lent old-world charm to a structure that had no doubt seen many years of celebrations. The hall seemed to emanate an otherworldly glow from the old fashioned gaslight fixtures inside. 
                                                                                  
Inside the pungent scent of hot cider laced with cinnamon and spice drew Jim in like a bee to a honey pot.  Steamy homemade soups were being ladled into bowls by an army of volunteers, and the long tables at the end of the room were well stocked with something a bit stronger for adults in need of more sustenance than the local cider had to offer.  The band of men assigned to this post were merrily pouring generous doses of liquid from the vast array of bottles in all shapes and sizes, and Jim headed over to the makeshift bar to have them add a few drops of adult beverage to his hot apple cider…..”Just to cool it down a bit”.                
                                                                   
There was a crowd gathered around the bake sale table where cakes, pies and cookies of all sorts could be procured for a small sum which benefitted the local holiday charity. Everyone looked forward to taking some goodies home for Christmas.  The offerings were clearly homemade which lent a certain charm to the items piled high on the groaning table.  Unlike the fancy confections displayed in stores and bakeries back home, most of the decorating on the cakes and cookies seemed to have been made with the help of small hands. 

Jim was assured by a woman standing next to him that each and every one of the items would be delicious, and that no matter what he choose he couldn’t go wrong with his purchase.  Additionally, each item had its own recipe attached just in case the recipient might want to take the time to recreate it in their own kitchen.  Most of the recipes looked to date back to the days of the gold rush, and included old-fashioned baking instructions like warnings to bank the wood fire or recommendations about how to store the suet obtained from the local butcher.  Although not a baker himself Jim thought that this was a nice touch and added an air of country charm to each acquisition.  Still it seemed a bit peculiar to him, but then what hadn’t been peculiar about the whole adventure?  He pulled out some cash and filled a bag with goodies that could easily be transported home.
         
                                                
Jim mingled with the townsfolk who greeted him like a long lost friend.  Back at home no one would have even acknowledged his presence at an affair where he was a stranger.  His children had already made fast friends with the local kids, and they were happily engaged at playing hide and seek in the crowded hall.  Never before had he been anywhere where he felt more welcome, more at home.

Eventually he confided in a group of men that his car was stuck in a snowdrift.   The men indicated that one of them was a mechanic and another had a tractor and that as soon as possible they would have the whole thing sorted out and the car brought to the Inn.  Jim felt a sense of panic overtake him as he thought about what could happen to his precious car when a couple of locals pulled it out of a snowdrift with a tractor.  Still, at their insistence and against his better judgment he handed over the keys to his newly acquired pride and joy and gave them to 3 perfect strangers… then he took a gulp of his cider and rum.  He was determined to roll with the punches for the duration and to really enjoy this holiday despite all that had happened to set his well laid plans off track.  He headed back to the bar for a bit more bottled reassurance.     
             
It wasn’t long before the whole company was engaged in singing carols. A small choir of local children that had gathered on the stage at the end of the room sounded like angels, their voices more beautiful than the professional choirs Jim heard back at home.  They wore no fancy clothing, and they sang the words to the carols from faded booklets that no doubt had witnessed many a happy Christmas celebration in this grand old hall.

The conductor was a large woman all dressed in Christmas red wearing an elf hat for good measure.  She looked like a cartoon character and the whole scene made Jim smile with a smile he hadn’t donned in years.  It reminded him of the pageants of his own childhood, and then it reminded him of all the performances his own children had been in that he had missed due to business deadlines and trips away for work.  How he now wished he could turn back the hands of time and re-live those moments that were gone forever.  

Looking around the room Jim realized that he had not bought a single Christmas gift for any of his children.  He was well known among his office mates for last minute shopping, or rather having his secretary go last minute shopping, and with deadlines at work he had plum forgotten to make arrangements. He hoped his trusty secretary had already penciled the assignment in her datebook months ago and that the gifts would be awaiting them under the tree when they got home.  Jim thought that the children would certainly be disappointed with a Christmas morning without gifts,
but vowed to console them with the promise of a proper pile of gifts under the tree the day after Christmas if necessary.  

He looked around the room to see if there were any tables with the ubiquitous auction or raffle items that he could substitute for a proper gift, at least for the time being, but hard as he tried he was not able to locate anything for sale other than food and drink. 

Then he spotted a collection plate circulating from hand to hand around the room.  When it came to around to him he noticed that there were two $100 bills tied with a rubber band just like those he had given Nevada, tucked under some smaller bills on the plate.  Anxious to see if the cowboy was in fact at the gathering he looked around the room but did not see him.  “How strange” he quietly murmured to himself.  He added a few bills to the collection and passed the plate.

The caroling was the highlight of the evening and despite the vast array of local voices, some on key, some off, Jim couldn’t remember being more moved by the ancient tunes that the locals sung every line and verse to.  He was amazed that some of the carols had so many stanzas, because back home caroling seemed to be more of a form of entertainment than worship.  Here each hymn was sung with such intensity and reverence, that it set the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention like toy soldiers. 

The lights in the otherwise brightly lit room had been dimmed for the concert, and Jim could now see in the afterglow of the gas lights the outline of the swags which had been picked right from the timeworn pines outside, their branches now festooned the walls of the splendid old hall.  
Clearly loving hands had spent countless hours preparing for this grand and joyous celebration. 

From his seat in the rear of the room he could take in the whole picture.  The hall was packed with families enjoying the simple pleasure of being together with loved ones and friends.  Most of them knew one another from the many local organizations, churches or schools.  People here seemed to have more time to get involved, to support their community.  That was very clear to Jim now. 
Jim thought how his own life revolved around his work.  He didn’t know a single neighbor.  
His office mates had become his sole “friends”.   He saw his children on alternate weekends.  
Most weekends he spent his time just catching up with the myriad of things he had pushed aside when deadlines ruled his life which was most of the time. He wondered who & what had he become.

The evening ended with a beautifully sung rendition of ‘Joy to the World’ and the crowd slowly disbursed to return to their homes.  Jim gathered his children for the short walk back to the Inn, holding hands as they walked through the icy sidewalks that went crunch, crunch, crunch with each step.  Jim felt peculiarly happy, content, and vowed to say a prayer of thanks that night before bed.  
It had been years since he had even thought to communicate with The Almighty, and somehow he felt the need to do so that night. 

For once in his life Jim felt small, vulnerable and very very grateful.  He surmised that there was a reason why he took the shortcut, why his car was stuck in the snowbank, why he was destined to meet the cast of colorful characters that were touching his life.  
 
As they neared the Inn there was raucous laughter coming from the gathering room, and Jim could see that the fireplace flames still licked at the brick walls of the hearth that had no doubt seen many Christmases.   But Jim headed straight up the stairs to the small room that they would share for the night, and it wasn’t long before his head hit the down pillow following his promised prayer of “Thanks”.  
The next morning the guests awoke to the hearty smell of thick slabs of country fried bacon coming up the stairway from the kitchen below. Mrs. Williams was no doubt cooking up a breakfast morning culinary storm not to be missed! 

 Jim rubbed his eyes and looked around the room.  The décor was right out of the 1800’s and he felt like he might as well have spent the night in a museum.  The cozy rocking chair, the brass bed with hand-made quilt, the lace curtains,  were all a homey and sharp contrast to his own decorator inspired home.  Somehow the sparse and modern flavor in his own house seemed cold and inhospitable now.  It was utilitarian, expensive, designed to impress.  Here the rooms were all about comfort, warmth and intimacy.  Jim wanted to lie back and take it in a little longer.

Hearing the happy peals of laughter from the guests below signaled that he should probably get downstairs for breakfast.  Being Christmas Day Jim hadn’t a clue what he would tell the children about not having any gifts for them that year. But the children were already running up the stairs with 2 small packages that they had found under the branches of the tree in the parlor.  

One had a tag that read “To Jim’s Kids”.  And the other simply said “To Jim”. 

The children begged to open the gifts but Jim told then they had best wait until they got back home.  He thought that coming home to a bare house without even a little Christmas surprise waiting for them would be too hard for him to bear.  The children scampered back down the stairs and Jim packed the 2 gifts into his duffle bag and went down for breakfast.   

After breakfast Jim stepped outside and was surprised to see that his car was parked in front of the hotel.  When he turned the key the engine started up with a spurt.  The car had been delivered to the Inn as promised, and a handwritten note on the dash read “Merry Christmas…no charge”.  Jim was astounded.  Despite a few dents from the snowdrift that could easily buffed out, his precious car was almost none the worse for wear. 

As much as he hated to leave, the roads looked passable and he knew that his world was calling him.  Having said their “goodbyes” with a promise to return he loaded his tribe into the car and headed off in the direction of home. 

But first he was determined to knock on the door of the little wayside cabin to thank Nevada again for the use of his home where he had found shelter and sustenance and a helping hand.  He thought it would be a nice gesture to bring Nevada one of the pies he had purchased the evening before.  He found it remarkable, almost unbelievable that he had spent several anxious nights in an unfamiliar place until a perfect stranger had put him and his family at ease and guided them to safety despite the stormy circumstances.  He wondered if he would have done the same for a neighbor or a stranger?                 
                                                                                   
Jim headed out along the road and was certain he was at just about the place that his car had been buried in the snowbank.  He had calculated the distance from there to the cabin within a reasonable sum but he was unable to find the cabin anywhere along the roadway.   Things do look very different when they are covered in snow but surely the little cabin would have to be within a few miles of where his car had spent their weekend stuck in the snowbank. 

Finally he stopped at a house near where he thought the cabin should have been.  A young woman with a small child on her arm answered the door.   She was not aware of any cabin in the neighborhood but pointed to the home of old timer further down the street that might shed light on the whereabouts of Nevada and Mustang.    

Jim rang the doorbell of the house and an old man appeared from around the corner of the porch, clearly having come out of his garden.  He seemed friendly enough as were most of the citizens he had met on The Divide, and when the man heard that he had questions about the cabin he invited Jim inside. It seemed this wasn’t the first time that someone had knocked on his door wishing to locate the cabin and its owner to thank them for some kindness or another. 

Jim retold his story and the man smiled and shook his head.  He had heard the story about a man and his horse greeting stranded travelers before.  All he knew was that there had been many stories of a cowboy who would help people in need although he always reckoned they were just folk tales.  Whether they were stranded by weather, ran out of gas along a lonely highway, or worse yet hurt in an accident, the stories of the cowboy and his dark horse who came to the rescue of travelers was the stuff that legends were made of, although the man claimed he never really believed in the tales himself.
  
The man said that there were additional accounts of the cowboy’s good deeds as well.  Local children from poor families would mysteriously find a bike or new toy on their doorstep on Christmas morning, with a note that said ‘From Mustang’ attached to the gift, although no one knew who Mustang really was.  

 “I think it’s Just a lot of local gibberish” proclaimed the man vehemently.
“Well-wishing pranksters no doubt”. 

As for the cabin, yes there had once been a cabin down the road.
But a fire had reduced it to ashes ages ago, and all that was left was a lonely chimney now overgrown with vegetation.  No one knew who owned the property, or if the owner ever returned after the fire.
                                                                   
Jim left the old man’s house and proceeded to drive towards home. It seemed he now had more questions than answers.  As he drove on slowly through the bucolic country roads leading back to the highway, his thoughts kept coming back around to the same crazy notions.  In fact no matter how hard he tried to put it out of his mind, he gradually became aware that in his heart he already knew the answer to his questions about the stranger.  He also began to see the whole weekend with a new perspective.  It had been much more than a major inconvenience. 

The weekend had allowed him to reconnect with his children, to recall previously lost cherished memories that he has long ago pushed into the background of his mind and to realize that although work was important, the reason for all that hard work was really family… family and friends.  Not having that balance had already cost Jim so much in his life; his marriage, his health, and lost years that would never return.  Striving for what he had thought were the best things distanced him from what really mattered, and the importance of being with his family,  just being with them, experiencing life together, and making memories come slowly into focus. 

He had also learned that there were still places not so far away where people were welcoming, friendly and cared for both strangers and friends.  Places where people somehow found the time for simpler pursuits and pleasures and might expect nothing more than a sincere “Thank You” for some kindness done with the hope that someday, if they needed it, someone would return the favor.
And Jim also knew now that despite ‘logical’ explanations for the seemingly unexplainable events he had experienced that weekend, there were still some things that would…and should remain a mystery no matter how hard anyone tried to explain them.   And those things, like the identity of the shadowy cowboy named Nevada and his black horse, would linger not only as a mystery, but as a cherished memory.  They would be the true gift of Christmas, given by a stranger.

Back at home the house seemed sterile and cold compared to the warm and cozy Inn they had left behind just a few hours ago.  The children drew straws to see which of them would tear the paper off their gift and once decided the package quickly revealed the 2 packs of playing cards they had enjoyed so much in the tiny cabin. 

A note attached said “From Mustang”.  

The kids seemed more excited with those cards than with so many of the gifts they had received over the years, and they arranged themselves around the coffee table in the living room intent on spending a few hours playing with them before dinner.

Jim looked at the package that he held in his hand.  It felt unusually heavy and the paper was faded and tattered, like it had been used before at more than one Christmas celebration. 

He sat on the edge of the couch and slowly opened the package.            
In his hand was a rusty horse shoe, clearly worn from many miles of use.  
And there was one slightly bent nail… no doubt intended for hanging. 
A little piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.                       

Carefully penned in large black letters were the words…


They said simply: 

                                              “FOR LUCK …ALWAYS”.