Christmas on the Prairie

By LeVern H. Neslen

For the Deseret News, 1999

Christmas 1899 has become a legend in our family, not because it was the last Christmas of the nineteenth century or the first Christmas in a new pioneer settlement. It was the Christmas when my mother's family hung stockings on an undulating canvas wall and snuggled close to keep warm inside a windblown tent. My mother was a child, that first Christmas in Canada, and this is the story she told:

There were other tents on that vast snow-covered prairie that night and a few one-room ship-lap cabins and even some dugouts across the creek. As the wind blew stronger our six stockings danced on the wall behind the sheet iron cook stove. Our family sat on a bench drawn close to the stove that had one lid ajar so we could use the light from the fire.

Mother held George, my baby brother; Mildred sat on father's lap. Jessie and I squeezed between them with a quilt over our laps to keep warm while father read to us. "I bring you good tidings of great joy," read Father. The guy rope squealed as it held the tent against the wind. Father read on as we watched the tiny flames flicker across the live coals in the bottom of the fire box. When Father finished reading the Christmas story, we stood up and began getting ready for bed.

Mother knelt on our bed and lifted the lid of one of the trunks wedged between the bed and wall. She retrieved the flannel gowns and sweaters and warm wool socks that we wore at night and passed them to each of us.

When we were ready for bed, Mother put the tin box that held the Christmas pudding and pies on the floor under the table. Father stacked the carpet and bedding rolls that had been on our bed during the day, on top of the trunks.

He doused what little fire remained with a dipper of water before getting into bed. We lay there in the dark listening to the wind howl. It's hard to get to sleep on any Christmas Eve, but we were not only excited for Santa Claus to come, we were afraid of the wind.

We were still awake when the first bed roll bounced off the trunk.

"It's on top of us," we cried in the dark.

"I'm coming," Father answered and we heard him get up. He came over and lifted it off from us. "I'll have to put it under the table. There's no place else to put it."

Baby brother George, who was sleeping between Mother and Father, woke up and started crying.

"We'll have to unload the cupboard before it tips over," said Mother as she lighted the lantern. The cans and dishes and pots clinked and banged as they stashed them under the bed.

"Everyone had better get up and get dressed," Father cried as we heard the stove pipe crash onto the table.

I could smell the soot and coal dust. A warm ash floated down and settled on my nose. I touched it and the black velvet crumbled, smearing my cheek. The guy rope broke, trapping us under the cold rough canvas of the tent.

Over the wind's howl we heard our Uncle Brig yell, "I'm coming Henry!" He had been sleeping in a wagon nearby.

The two strong men, my father and Uncle Brig, crawled under the canvas, holding it and the bed roll high enough for us to wriggle out into the windy night. The white, crusted snow scrunched under our stocking feet. Mother had managed to dress and carried my screaming baby brother while my dad and Uncle Brig held onto the rest of us. They half carried and half pushed us to the nearest cabin. The Piersons were up. The wind had swayed the cabin roof so much that they had to brace it with a two-by-four propped in the middle of the room, much like a tent pole.

"How do you like our Christmas tree?" Brother Pierson teased as he left us with Sister Pierson. He went with Father and Uncle Brig to take care of the tent and all of our possessions.

We laid across the one bed while Sister Pierson and Mother told us stories until we finally fell asleep. We woke as it began getting light.

The wind had died down during the night. Mother put on her coat and head shawl and went to see how things were at the tent.

In a few minutes she came back for us. The men had made a wood frame to hold the tent up and had boxed in the stove. The pipe was up and a fire was going in the stove.

Our presents from Santa were on our bed. There was a blue wicker sewing basket with blue satin lining and scissors, thread and calico for Jessie. My story book with a red cover and glorious pictures was laying beside the basket. Mildred's gift was doll furniture, a rocking chair with a velvet cushion and a table with a real marble top. The fire engine, with white horses to pull it, was for George.

"We can have Christmas dinner after all," said Mother. "The puddings and pies are scrambled and there's a few black spots we didn't have before and quite a few dishes are broken, but we'll manage," she said.

We did more than manage, we had a wonderful Christmas.