I have fond memories of winter holidays when I was a child, with those spent at my grandparents’ in Alabama, the most memorable. Grandpa and Grandma Hankins lived in the tiny town of Vernon, while Papa and Mama Haynes owned a small farm on the outskirts.
Neither grandparent had a television, yet my brother, Jim, and I used creativity to keep ourselves amused. Meal time was always special. We brought tasty things that Mom had prepared beforehand, such as sweet potato casserole, glazed ham, creamed corn, and a package of Brown-n-Serve rolls, which always went in the oven last. Large slices of yummy Boston Cream Cake made for dessert.
We enjoyed our dinner at Grandpa and Grandma Hankins’ house while sitting in front of a crackling fireplace. That’s what they used to keep their small home warm. After eating, Jim and I had a whole gravel pit to play in. We’d toss balls down there with our Boxer dog, “Jet,” or fly kites.
Papa and Mama Haynes kept propane stoves in several rooms. These were never lit at bedtime, with quilts providing warmth throughout the night. I remember Mom once using an electric blanket, and when it was switched to high, the sudden surge popped a fuse.
A large table in the kitchen made for a comfortable place to eat. We generally switched residences each Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner so that no feelings would be hurt. Sometimes, my cousins came down from Birmingham or Mobile, and they always stayed at the Haynes’ place.
My adult holiday memories for both holidays were just as special. Joleen’s sister, Sonja, lived on the outskirts of Palmer, Alaska, with her husband, Charlie, and three children, Deric, Brynn, and Amanda. There was no GPS to guide me there with many turns to remember.
Their picturesque cabin sat up high above the Matanuska River, and it was only a short hike down to the water. It was like a scene from an Alaskan postcard, complete with moose and eagles.
On cold winter days, when the air was crisp and the skies were icy blue, adults and kids alike made use of a large trampoline in the backyard. If you bounced high enough, the river was visible down below through the trees.
I had an artificial intelligence (AI) artist try to duplicate a summer scene here, with it doing a fair-to-middling job. The strong image in my mind can never be replicated as it’s picture-perfect. I only wish I could go back in time and experience those precious moments all over again.
All of our nieces and nephews back then, including our two children, now have kids of their own. Those who are still living in Alaska get to experience what I did. There’s nothing like winter holidays in Alaska, especially experiencing a white Christmas with plenty of snow.
Packed away in numerous albums are photos from my holidays as a boy in Alabama and hundreds of shots from Alaska when I was a young father. One of those pictures shows all of the Hart children on the trampoline, along with Mitchum and Tara Adair, including Gunnar and Miranda. Our youngest niece, Crystal Miller, was yet to be born.
Hanging in my office is a cherished pastel painting by the late Alaskan artist, Jean Matiyas. Jean was a neighbor of ours in Elm-Rich Subdivision. This is an original work, circa 1979, and not a copy. We were fortunate to get it because Jean quit selling her originals and switched to making copies.
The artwork is of an Alaskan cabin on a blustery, cold, snowy evening, with mountains visible and a partially covered moon. Spruce trees are seen, including a nearly frozen-over stream. A building behind the cabin appears to be a workshop, reminiscent of the one my brother-in-law, Charlie Hart, had when the Harts lived out there. Smoke wisps from a chimney.
When I view this painting daily, it takes me back to those wonderful Alaskan Thanksgivings and Christmases. The scene is reminiscent of such. Changing one word here to express my final thoughts, “Where the Hart is” covers a multitude of special occasions in my life, especially the holiday season!
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