www.newrivervalley.com

'Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the house

Every creature was stirring,

Especially the mouse.

Kids were yelling, dogs were howling,

Cats were venturing down from trees,

People were laughing, babies were bawling

And the chickens were trying to sleep.

It all started a week earlier. The time was the mid-1930s. Our little home was in the high mountains of western North Carolina.

The one-room school my sister and I attended had closed for Christmas, and all kids had departed for their homes back in mountain hollows.

Christmas had always been a festive affair, but there was not much socializing because of the isolation of each family. There was just my sister, me and my Mom and Dad to celebrate Christmas together.

My dad was a rare individual who in spite of many obstacles had gone through two years of business college. With various enterprises, he provided for the family. We were not rich but far from poor.

A week before Christmas, a Chevrolet touring car pulled up in front of our house. It was Uncle Floyd and his family. He had been working in the coal mines in Kentucky, and because of strikes the mines had closed. He was out of work with no money for food and certainly nothing for Christmas. Could they come stay with us for a while until the mines opened again? Well of course!

The back door of the car opened, and kids poured out for 15 minutes. There were kids on the porch, kids in the trees, kids under the house, kids chasing dogs, cats, chickens and anything else that could run. It may have been where Dr. Seuss got his inspiration. We now had kids to play games with. We could even have teams.

The week went great for my sister and me. Not so for the dog and cats. There was usually a kid pulling the dog's tail and one on each ear. The cats headed for the tops of trees where they stayed, looking down on the melee below. Chickens that normally lived free-roaming now had to run for their lives when they turned a corner and met one of the kids head on.

My dad let Uncle Floyd cut crossties for the railroad to get a little money for Christmas. The moms cooked steadily to feed the constantly hungry horde.

On Christmas Eve, it was suggested someone go to a neighbor's house and invite Willard to come play his banjo. One of my cousins, who had heard only the music of gunfire from the surrounding hills of his home as union members battled the mining company's hired guns, asked if a banjo could shoot.

After a long and mostly sleepless night -- where kids were placed at the foot of the bed, on pallets on the floor, and stashed in any place where they could lay a quilt -- morning finally came. Soon after daylight there came a knock at the door, and lo and behold, there stood Santa Claus.

The resemblance between him and my uncle was astounding. They must have been kin. Santa had a bag full of toys, candy and fruit, which he dispersed with his magic perception of which kid should receive which toy. Christmas day was spent eating and playing with new toys.

This gave the animals a much needed respite from being tugged, pulled and chased.

The mines eventually opened. Kids, toys and other earthly belongings were piled into the old Chevrolet and it headed back to Kentucky.

The noise echoing around the mountain valley quieted down, school reopened and things got back to normal -- except for the dogs and cats, which were in dire need of psychiatric counseling. The chickens, one by one, ended up in a pot, their problems of quiet desperation solved.

It was a mountain Christmas to remember!