Cowfeathers Caroling

Christmas is about the birth of Jesus, certainly. But the way we celebrate this is heavy with traditions and, if you're lucky,  visiting. Some of my favorite Christmas memories involve gatherings of folks, repeated yearly, giving tentacles to the memory. In my family, I am Youngest, with two elder sisters. At some point, in their high school years, one of them, Middlest? decided she wanted to carol with some friends. This would probably be, 1979, or 1980. So, on Christmas Eve, a few of her friends arrived and we tromped out into the woods to neighbor's houses to sing to them. Especially in the beginning, we would sometimes find no one home, but as the years went by, folks started planning their Christmas Eve celebrations around the hopes that our troupe would show up at the door. I felt a little smug and special when we would drag a family away from their meal in front of the television- like we had won. How can you watch TV on Christmas Eve? Look at each other! Or, come open the door to the cold and hear our enthusiastic, if not tuneful renditions of "Jingle Bells" and "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" We evolved into a routine of songs, that varied little. We began with "Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh" and ended with "We wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!".

My mother, amazing with her foresight, came up with a dirty box from the outbuilding storage, full of old yellow painted metal lanterns with glass sides that held a candle and hung from a rope. She had about a dozen, and each year, before our caroling compatriots arrived someone would dig them out and clean them up a bit, put bigger candle stubs inside and we would light them as we set off into the dark woods. If there was snow, you could see a bit better, but not even a full moon did much to illuminate the woods floor. We mostly stuck to driveways, but a few places were more easily reached overland. The lanterns would give a soft glow to the ground just in front of your feet. I cannot remember calling off caroling for any reason. Any weather- the worst was cold rain, but we would often have snow, and sometimes beautiful, cold and dry, still we would go. To the Smith's first. They were forgiving, and we tested our pipes out on their doorstep. Then, the Barrett's, Charnoks,Whiteheads, then the house deep in the woods whose inhabitants we only met once a year. On this night. They were TV watchers. Then, up the hill, through the woods, as far as the Cradle of Methodism ( a 1600's house built by the folks who brought  Methodism to the colonies)- once or twice fueled by cookies and jolly folly, even farther! Usually we tromped to 16 houses or so. If we were near the road, we would swing our lanterns so any travelling vehicles would slow and creep past the group as we'd yell "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" One year we also went down the hill, across Little River to the Roland Farm. Helen, the elderly wife of the house, was deep into her cups (as usual) and opened the door with flourish. Upon seeing us perched on her doorstep, she slurred at  my Dad, in her high pitched voice "Rev'rend! You broghst the orphansh!" We were giggling so hard, I doubt we sang more than two of our standards before heading back over the river and up the hill to more coherent audience.
My Dad, one of the most enthusiastic people I know, was always on board for caroling. Maybe he is the reason we never demurred due to weather. He was ready. Tall, with a deep voice, a ready infectious grin, colossally long legs spanning the fallen trees and stone walls- who wouldn't want to stomp around in dark woods singing "JOY TO THE WORLD, THE LORD HAS COME!" with my Dad? Certainly not me! We caroled every year, right through my high school, and college years until my parents moved from Connecticut. We would return to Puckihuddle ( my childhood farm) frozen through, red cheeked and snow covered. Stomping feet off on the brick floors of the mudroom and kitchen we would gather as closely as possible to the old Valiant woodstove, until our clothes started steaming and pain crept through our fingers and toes as they warmed. Noses ran, and hands finding horrible nerve endings clamped around hot mugs of cider and chocolate, served by Mom. Mom stayed home with Mimi and Grandpa while we caroled. I didn't think about that much. I never analyzed whether she stayed home because she wanted to miss the joy of singing with the misery of Connecticut Christmas cold, or just didn't want to abandon her parents on Christmas Eve. I sort of hope it was the former, as I would have a hard time not bundling up and heading out myself. Of course, if my parents were visiting us  for Christmas, and we went caroling, I would be surprised if my Dad didn't want to suit up. My childhood was a succession of activities that brought joy with hardship. Might not want to analyze that either!
So, this year, Eldest said she'd like to invite some friends to go caroling. Huz, raised in Florida, not caroling, looked askance at the thought- but we can sway him. Unfortunately, I don't think Eldest actually invited anyone- maybe next year we'll begin the Cowfeathers Caroling tradition.

At the Smiths, 1982. I've got a rainbow scarf, standing with my friend Jodi. You can tell this is early in the caroling tradition, as some folks are holding sheet music. Obviously one of the warmer Christmases! No hats?!

1984. Dad is in the back, holding his lantern high like a 19th century London Caroler. My sisters are behind me- hitting the high notes. Mike, Eldest sister's friend is behind her. He loved our wacky family. Middlest sister's friend, Chalane (sp?) was a early years caroling regular. She's on the right, behind the wreath sprigs. Did I have any friends?

Hmm. This is later. Maybe 1987or 1988? A rainy Christmas Eve. Brian Rowe is on the right, he was an exchange student from New Zealand, but came back to visit his US friends. holding the green and white umbrella is my friend, T. I'm on the far left, always have liked the drama of a cape.  Dad behind me. My friends, Eric and Tommy are next to Dad, Eddie is behind T. and Brian. My sisters are sporting dapper caps for the rain.