December 16 '96
Volume 27
Christmastime
Main Street Pontotoc
This year each
December
night viewed along Main Street in Pontotoc, MS, is a picture postcard of
Christmas in a small town. Each block of Main Street is lined with Bradford
Pear trees, still stubbornly holding much of their colorful fall foliage.
The trees are illumined by the soft glow of turn of the century style
street lights. The amber rays emanating from the modern sodium-vapor lamps
and diffused by cut-glass, single globed, 15 feet high lampposts, add a special
richness of hue to those tree leaves remaining.
Every tree has been trimmed in tiny, white lights, the same now used by millions
of celebrants of the Christmas Season. The small park that forms Court Square
adjacent to the County Courthouse is also decorated by tiny white lights
that ring its deciduous trees. A solitary cross, outlined in lights, reminds
one and all of the reason for celebrating the season.
Except for visual clues revealing modern modes of transportation and the
unavailability of drifting white snow, it is possible to imagine this rhapsodic
scene as it might appear on a Currier and Ives print. It is too bad Norman
Rockwell never visited this community or he would likely have been inspired
to spread a canvas with his interpretation of Christmas in Pontotoc. Artistic
impressions of Pontotoc may never achieve wide acclaim, and history may never
ascribe any significance to this fair community, but the citizenry of this
county-seat town are well aware of the cultural and aesthetic opportunities
afforded its residents.
The special glow of the present scene will soon fade as an old year dies,
and a new year is birthed. The seasonal decorations will be removed, the
streets and buildings will again assume a business as usual appearance.
Yet, the special glow that is the Spirit of Pontotoc will remain. Though
it cannot be captured on canvas, or photographic film, it exists and burns
brightly within hearts and shines from the faces of all who are priviledged
call Pontotoc...home.
Another Gene
Thing
My sister has outdone herself. It is one of those you have to
see-it-to-believe-it things. I dont quite know what gets ahold
of Sarah during the Christmas Season, but I suspect it is an inherited trait
passed down from Frederick "Fred" Crausby. Fred Crausby or Papa as my mother
referred to her father was a man who enthusiastically loved
Christmas.
Papa died when my mother was young, but Mama was old enough to remember how
special her father treated Christmas. I recall her telling about all the
food he would buy like great chunks of cheddar cheese, sometimes even a full
hoop (thats about 25 pounds of cheese, folks). The traditional fruits
and nuts would also be abundant. There must have been an air of intense
excitement as Papa fueled the minds of his three daughters with his own tales
of past Christmases.
My moms family might have been just poor country people, but a bit
of extravagance was necessary from Papa every Christmas. Whatever the girls
may have lacked in material possessions was more than made up in a time of
celebration led by their papa. A Christmas memory lasts far longer than toys
or dolls or other material things.
Sarah is a lot like Fred Crausby when it comes to preparing for Christmas.
Her own children will, no doubt, remember many happy events associated with
their childhood Christmases, and among these will be the cookies, cakes,
fudges, and finger foods prepared by their mom. Home crafted decorations
for outdoors, drawn, painted, and sometimes sawn by their creative mother
will seem endless as they one day recount childhood memories.
Exterior flood lights, staked in the ground, light the entire front of
Sarahs home on East Oxford Street. The front door and wall are adorned
with hand crafted wreathes. Garland is arched above the front entrance which
is guarded by life-sized toy soldiers that only weeks ago were shaped from
a 4 by 8 piece of plywood and then painted in bold British red and black.
Sarahs son, Brett, managed to overcome his fear of heights just long
enough to staple strings of lights along the sides and front edge of the
roof of house. Brett claims he is not getting back on the steep roof to remove
the lights. I will probably help with that chore.
My niece, Felicia, has found her calling to be tree decorating. The women
of the house have placed and decorated a tree for each room; that includes
both bathrooms, but not the laundry room. A couple of these are not the
traditional green firs, but are the now naked limbs of once living trees,
and having been painted a snowy white, are trimmed in white lights and/or
balls and beads.
Fits of crafting and decorating for Christmas seem to have bypassed me, yet
another year. If I have any of the Fred Crausby genes, they are dormant or
benign. In recent years, my decorating initiative has been pretty much limited
to fetching all the boxs of Christmas decorations and the artifical tree
from the attic. Other family members usually put up the tree and the inside
decorations. Caught in a time crunch to decorate, as well as a house in need
of a general cleaning, Barbara and I invited Felicia to decorate our tree.
After all, she does love so to decorate; why not give her the opportunity.
With Bretts help, I got the decorations from the attic. Right after
lunch this past Sunday (12/08/96), Felicia, with her mother helping and Barbara
supervising, flung the tree into a corner of the living room, and in less
time than you can say Martha Stewart, the tree was up and decorated. Felicia
had to show Sarah and Barbara the Martha Stewart method of wrapping each
limb with lights. Felicia had seen the method demonstrated 5 times and was
certain she had it down pat.
Shortly after 3:00 p.m. Barbara and I had our cars loaded and were on our
way back to Greenville. Thanks to cleaning efforts we had made on Saturday
and the decorating efforts of Felica and Sarah on Sunday afternoon, we could
say of the house in Pontotoc, "Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas."
Now, if it would only turn cold and snow on Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas to all.
Share this article with a friend.
Home
Copyright © 2000 - 2003 RRN
Online.