(Host)
For writer, journalist and commentator Marybeth Redmond, the seeds of
creating a simpler life in Vermont were sown many, many Christmas Eves
ago.
(Redmond) My childhood Christmas Eve memories are filled
with sledding and noisy laughter from deep within green forest caverns
on Okemo Mountain. In anticipation of Santa’s impending visit, my
siblings and I would practically vibrate with pent-up energy.
One
Christmas Eve when I was 10, we trudged through the woods to a ski
slope under a moonlight sky. We positioned our compact bodies onto our
sledding device of the moment… this time, rectangular cafeteria trays
we had "borrowed" from the mountain restaurant. The packed, groomed
trails provided us with thrilling rides. Collisions and face-plants at
the bottom of shimmering hills occurred with regularity – until a
tearful injury for the youngest sledder ended the sliding spree.
We
arrived home to drink mugfuls of Swiss Miss cocoa until we had
clown-like smiles of chocolate on our lips and cheeks. Later, we
returned the trays to their owner.
Another Christmas Eve, we
constructed an icy luge run that spiraled its way through the trees and
sent us into a series of exciting hair-pin turns.
Whatever
possessed my Long Island, New York parents with five kids to buy a log
cabin in Vermont, I’ll never know! But from the time I was 7, we would
cram into our Ford station wagon and jet north on the interstate to
spend every single Christmas week in Vermont. Thanksgiving and winter
breaks too.
Two of us kids would sprawl across the rear
compartment of the car, perched atop the luggage and the Christmas
presents buried beneath. This scenario was, of course, before seatbelt
laws.
With no telephone or TV in the Ludlow house, we youngsters
would ski by day and wander our open-air playground by night. Evenings
by the fire, we entertained each other with the adventures of our days.
For
my parents, it was a brilliant way to yank us out of an increasingly
sophisticated social scene as we grew into high schoolers, and cars and
parties became the order of the day. Our family spent peaceful Christmas
Eves together in a kind of simple living I longed to create when I
became an adult.
I settled in northern Vermont with my own
family more than a decade ago. And we continue the great Christmas Eve
sledding tradition. Our inner-tubes have barreled down the hillside at
the Round Church in Richmond, blessed by candle-light from the church
windows nearby. This year though, we’ve graduated. My 10-year-old son
wants try Casey’s Hill in Underhill, where we’ll "take it up a notch" if
they’ll have us. Wish us luck.