'Tis the season

It would be dark soon, the last light of the day caught in the tops of the trees.

For more than a week now the weather had been frigid. Snow covered the ground and ice grew thick on the ponds.

Pheasants flew out of the cattails ahead of the dogs and vanished in the gathering gloom.

Back at the house a wreath graced the front door and a Christmas tree lit up the dining room.

But the melding of the seasons was illustrated most clearly on the buffet where the crèche set sat next to a hand-held GPS hooked up to a charger. The screen read “looking for satellites” and cast a greenish glow on the tiny baby Jesus at the center of the carved wooden figurines.

The crèche used to include more pieces, but time has taken its toll. Baby Jesus is missing a foot and the sheep is missing its head. However, the three wise men still stand watch, and Mary and Joseph still kneel next to the crib. A couple of lambs and a donkey complete the scene.

On the back porch pheasant tail feathers decorate a frost-covered window, and there’s a fresh rooster in the cooler for dinner.

The dogs flushed him at the edge of the cattails and he dropped at the shot into the nearly impenetrable morass. Jem and Ace saw him fall and quickly disappeared in pursuit. I pushed my way in after the spaniels and found Jem burrowed under the thatch, tail ablur. I grabbed for the bird and Jem popped out, covered in snow with the rooster in his mouth.

A few days earlier Barb and I had attended a school Christmas pageant at the Loring Hutterite colony, driving the 45 miles north in fading light, on high alert for deer crossing the snow-covered road. We enjoyed a traditional dinner of Saturday sausage and potato soup with our friends there, sang carols and laughed at corny jokes.

It was 10 below on the drive home and I knew I wouldn’t hunt the next day. But I also knew the ice was growing thicker by the hour and I’d be able to get to cover that had been unreachable all season.

Back at the house the GPS was fully charged and I started to unplug it but changed my mind. Baby Jesus still glowed green from the faint light.

‘Tis the season. A couple of them, matter of fact.

Merry Christmas.

Parker Heinlein is at

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