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THIS IS CHRISTMAS
The season is positively magical. May you have a season that is filled with warth, love, family, and friends. I hope that we may inspire a bit of magic for your season. God Bless and Merry Christmas.
“Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home.” — Charles Dickens
PHOTOGRAPH BY: DAVID GUENTHER
FOLK VOLUME 3 NUMBER 5
CONTRIBUTORS Alice Hale Adams Leslie Adams April Ballard Ruth Barnes David Guenther Trudy Honeycutt Jen O’Connor Blake Pack Linda Reid Rikki Snyder Jaquie Wheeler Kyle White CUSTOMER SERVICE contact@folklifestyle.com FOLK P.O. Box 195 Beaver Dam, KY 42320
INDEX 4 THE WISE MEN SMELLED LIKE SMOKE 8 CHRISTMAS TIME TO ME 10 HEIRLOOM ORNAMENTS 12 THE SIDE ROOM CLOSET 14 THE EMPTY CHAIR 16 PATTERN 18 SUE PARKER 22 THE CRANBERRY
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The Wise Men Smelled Like Smoke There is an old joke that asks, “Do you know why the wise men smelled like smoke?” Of course the answer is, “because they came from afar.” In my area of the country, the word “fire” often sounds more like “far”. Another version of the joke tells of the traveler passing through a small town during the Christmas season. This particular town had the tradition of displaying a live nativity scene on the city square. The traveler stopped to admire the scene and reflect on the real meaning of Christmas but found this scene to be a bit different from normal. The “usual suspects” were on display: Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, an angel, shepherds and even a donkey and a sheep. What made this a most unique nativity scene was the presence of three firefighters, all decked out in their bunker gear. The visitor turned to a local and inquired as to the reason for having firefighters in the display of the Holy birth. The local fellow answered, “Why, stranger, don’t you recognize them? They are the wise men.” To that, the traveler responded, “The wise men? Why are they in firefighting gear?” “Don’t you know your Bible? It plainly says ‘they came from afar.’”
This leads to my small town and church Christmas pageants. No, we didn’t exactly replay “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” with the Herdmans, but we did have a similar version one year. My hometown boasted a population of 300 in the 1960’s and that figure hasn’t changed much since. Although small in number of people, there have always been an abundance of small churches. My home is Centertown United Methodist Church. Much like our town, my congregation is relatively small in number. That never hindered the production of a Christmas pageant each year. The year was about 1964 or 65, as I recall. I was about 10 years old and not quite old enough to be a member of what was then known as MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) so I landed a lesser role in the play. I think that was the year I had a non-speaking part as an angel in the nativity scene that unfolded as the program progressed. My older brother, Ronnie, played the innkeeper. He was 16 and probably thought he had outgrown church Christmas plays and was “too busy” to bother
STORY: LINDA REID
with rehearsals. The night of the production he did show up and gave the performance of a lifetime…all without rehearsals and therefore, ad lib. It was truly a great performance that nearly stole the show.
best angelic voices. The candle bearers had been well coached and no candle came close to the paper robes. Since I was one of the younger and smaller singers, I didn’t carry a candle. A fellow classmate of mine, Kathy, did, however.
Remember, I said nearly. My sister, Janet, played the role of Mary. Her best friend, Vicky, was the angel who appeared to Mary. “Hell, Mary!” As you can imagine, that had the entire cast in stitches every rehearsal. She, of course, was supposed to say “Hail, Mary!” but it always came out like “hell”. Rehearsals invariably had a friendly argument between Mary and the angel.
She stood behind me and followed directions carefully. She did not let her candle get near her robe nor mine. She held it high enough to be seen but, by the time we sang “sleep in heavenly peace” the final time, her arm apparently got tired and she had lowered her candle to a point right behind my head…and a bit too close. My hair, in some recollections, caught fire. Mom played piano for us and as soon as the last note was played she saw what was happening. She quickly jumped up and “patted” my head to keep it from burning my scalp. I didn’t realize what had happened but did notice an odd smell. Although my head didn’t actually burst into flames, it did singe the hair on the back of my head enough that I had quite a bald spot for some time.
“Vicky! The word is hail, not hell.” “That’s what I’m saying. ‘Hell’, Mary.” That went on for a couple of rounds before an adult stepped in to move forward with rehearsal. All the while we younger kids were taking our places in the manger scene at the appropriate point in the story. As most 7-11 year olds, we found it difficult to keep from giggling all the time anyway. Our angel proclaiming hell and our ad lib proficient innkeeper only gave us fodder for laughter. We made it through the acting portion of the program and then prepared for the grand finale… our youth choir concert. We prepared several traditional Christmas carols and had settled into a more serious mood. A couple of ladies had taken sheets of crepe paper and made choir robes for all the young people. We assembled in the pulpit area and arranged ourselves into the practiced formation of a Christmas tree. A few select “branches” carried small candles to serve as lights on the tree. All went well as we sang “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” in our
Needless to say, we never use real candles in such a manner. Our Christmas pageants may not have as much flair (or maybe that should be flare) but the tradition of small town church Christmas plays continues. Strains of “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” often mix with more contemporary carols but the spirit stays the same. We all probably grumbled about having to be in those productions each year but I’m willing to bet every one of us will have to admit that some of our best childhood memories center on those rehearsals and presentations…complete with shepherds in bathrobes. I may not have been a wise man/woman but I definitely smelled like smoke!
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KR
CHRISTMAS TO ME...
A reflection on changing traditions and steadfast favorites. When reflecting upon what Christmas means to me, thoughts of family and friends immediately come to my mind. I think back to a time in which excitement was true and genuine. My memories of Christmas include my family taking me out on Christmas Eve to explore the lights and sights of Christmas. We would drive around for what seemed like hours listening to Christmas music and taking in all of the lights. I thought this was magical and I looked forward to it every year. I also like to reflect upon Christmas as I envision it now and the ways in which I hope to carry on and begin new traditions… Snow is falling, friends and family have gathered, and the laughter is genuine. Gifts are wrapped ornately and it would be my hope that everyone has decided to exchange handmade gifts. I find with each passing year, that I really cling to fond memories and find so much comfort in these times. I sometimes just want to get lost in these memories. There is beauty in these memories that may seem simplistic, but that is what makes them beautiful and why I cling to them so much. The simple things in life such as laughing with family and friends, watching the snow fall, sharing childhood Christmas memories, a Christmas carol that moves us to tears, or deciding on the perfect gift really encompass the true and genuine meaning of Christmas. The department stores and flashy gifts do not mean anything compared to the love and memories that are attached to Christmas in my mind. We all have Christmas traditions that we take part in; whether it be baking with a favorite aunt, staying up late, wrapping gifts, or driving around to take in the bright lights and Christmas trees in our hometown. I imagine putting the Christmas tree with my family and deciding upon the perfect placement of each ornament. I’m laughing and talking with my family and the setting would be perfect if there was a fresh blanket of snow. However, even without the snow, Christmas still takes on a deeply personal meaning to me and makes me want to begin my own traditions to be handed down throughout the years.
Traditions are established not because of gifts or the monetary aspects that are too often associated with Christmas, but because of family and memories that stretch across a lifetime. As I said before, one of my favorite Christmas memories is decorating the tree with my family. It may be that the ornaments aren’t perfect, which to me is real and speaks to the Christmas spirit. For instance, on my Mom’s Christmas tree every year is the paper Mache Santa Clause that I made in my third grade art class. Is it perfect and ornately crafted? No, of course not, but even more perfect all the same in that it means something to my family and reminds my Mom of the moment that I gave her the ornament as a gift. I think that ornaments often reflect life in this way and can create memories of family, travels, and people that bring a smile simply at the thought of them. I love it when simply thinking of a person brings a smile to my face. I also reflect upon a time in which I was creating art projects at school and remember the excitement I felt as I was about to give this gift to my family. This philosophy carries over into my new Christmas traditions in that I believe that handcrafted gifts mean so much more. I think of these times in my life when I long to “just be”. The phrase “just be” is something I try and remind myself of daily but sometimes it gets lost or cast aside due to the business of day to day life. However, thinking back to a time in which the most important part of my day was to create this paper Mache Santa for my family Christmas tree gives me a sense of nostalgia and I smile. I may not have all perfect and ideal Christmas memories, but I have many that I cherish and cling to and hope to create new traditions that both my family and friends will value and look forward to every year. I wish you the very best and warmest of Christmas traditions and times this year and every year. I am going to take time to “just be” this Christmas season and enjoy my family and friends and the genuine memories and traditions that we create. I wish you a magical Christmas season with those close to you.
In recent years, I’ve started having breakfast for dinner on Christmas Eve. It just feels warm and cozy and I love the way that it brings both family and friends together.
BY: APRIL BALLARD
HEIRLOOM ORNAMENTS ...small holiday tokens.... If we are lucky as adults, we have ornaments from our childhood to pass on to our children. If we are extra lucky, we have at least one ornament from our parents’ childhood to covet as our own. It is in these small holiday tokens that live legacies of love and triumph. My grandmother loved color. Pink and teal particularly. Style gurus of 1950’s homemakers had nothing on her. She raised my mother in a Cape Cod style house my Grandfather built high on a hill overlooking the Shetucket River in Eastern Connecticut. Her kitchen was done in teal tile, she served simple meals on bright Fiesta dishes, and baked the finest éclairs in New England. A silver tinsel tree was her signature Christmas centerpiece and upon it were hung the sweetest pink ornaments Woolworths offered. Mingled in were blown glass ornaments my Great Grandparents brought with them from Czechoslovakia. And in my Grandmother’s driveway a mammoth 1955 turquoise Buick was the envy of the neighborhood. She would have to learn to drive it after my Grandfather’s sudden death when my Mom was only ten. Though years of transitioning from a homemaking queen to a single parent would bring difficulty, financial strife and resilience, that silver tree was finely decorated every Christmas as a testament to my Grandmother’s, and my Mother’s, strength to thrive. Every December, I unwrap an ornament that once hung on my Grandmother’s tree. I have only one. I hold it to the sun as the light shines through the mercury glass and shadows tiny hand-painted blue flowers. I snuck it away
from my Mother’s collection one Christmas when I was home from college. These were the precious bulbs stored in a tattered box with edges secured so many times the box was pretty much tape and dust. Inside, the vintage ornaments looked like creamy curved marzipan treats peeking through time-thinned tissue paper. My Grandmother had passed away when I was a high school sophomore, before I had a chance to appreciate the lessons she often shared. This ornament is feather light, delicate, ornate in its simplicity. Just like my Grandmother. Four feet ten inches and maybe 90 pounds after a hearty meal. My Grandmother went to work in the Ponemah velvet mills after my Grandfather died. She never complained. Never cried where anyone could see. Never gave the impression that a woman needed a man for anything. Always preached love. Always practiced determination. Always shone with bright color when most other women would have faded to black. Over the years I have collected vintage ornaments to simulate my Grandmother’s collection, to hold dear the memories my Mother guards with old boxes in cedar chests. To share in the silent strengths that hang in the remains of love snuffed out too early. Pink ornaments now cover my own silver tinsel tree. And as my daughter joins me in decorating, I share stories of my Grandmother, my Mother, and the Grandfather I never knew in hopes their legacies will fuel generations yet to come. Merry Christmas!
STORY: JACQUIE WHEELER | PHOTOGRAPH: LESLIE ADAMS
Read more essays by Greta + check out her biography on our website folklifestyle.com
THE SIDE ROOM CLOSET A SHORT STORY
STORY: ALICE HALE ADAMS
Fannie Lee celebrated her sixth birthday in the weeks before Christmas, 1924. The excitement in the house was mirrored in her face, the joy exhibited in her inability to be still. Her mother had spent weeks preparing for Christmas. The candy was sealed in tins, pink and white divinity, chocolate, peanut butter, and vanilla fudge, and caramels. Cookies were layered between sheets of waxed paper and a coconut cake sat waiting in the cellar. December 21st was the day the tree was cut and brought to the house. Papa chopped off the big limbs at the base of the tree. Fannie Lee and her older brother, Wellington, helped him place the tree into a bucket filled with small rocks, dense enough to hold the tree upright and allow for watering. The window at the front of the house, far enough from the fireplace to avoid sparks, was chosen as the place to show off the Christmas tree. Their house contained five rooms, a living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and the side room, as well as a screened back porch. The front porch reached across the living room and front bedroom. Mama used a little closet off the side room as a hiding place for the tins of candy and boxes of cookies. Tall shelves hid the Christmas presents that had been purchased for the children. Outside in the cellar, along with the coconut cake, Mama had wrapped apples and oranges in brown paper and tobacco leaves. Fannie Lee was curious about hidden things. If she found herself alone in the house for a few minutes she immediately began searching for the candy and cookies she knew her Mama had made and put away for Christmas. Tiptoeing through the front bedroom, she looked in the dresser drawers and under the bed. Disappointed, she slipped into the side room, peeking behind the sideboard doors. She rarely had more than a short time to look but finally the day came when she wandered into the closet. Immediately, she could tell by the aroma that she had found the sweets. Listening for Mama, she picked through the tins on the shelves. Climbing into a chair, she reached as far as her arm would reach and felt the tin boxes on the top shelf. Joy filled her heart but she had to shove the box back as she heard the back door open and slam shut. She sauntered into the kitchen, acting as innocent as a baby. The next time Fannie Lee found herself alone she dashed into the closet, climbed on the chair, pulled down the box, opened the lid, and ate one piece of chocolate fudge. It melted in her mouth. Shivers ran down her spine. She became braver and slipped into the closet even when she was not alone in the house. She was very quiet, scooting the chair across the floor without a sound, climbing up and getting a piece of candy. She ate a different kind each time so there would be some of each left for Christmas. But soon she could tell the box was less full and she felt afraid. She put the candy box back on the shelf, vowing not to eat another piece. Then she found the cookies.
She could hardly contain herself. She loved cookies better than anything, even better than the candy. It was hard to get them out of the wrapping without messing up the whole container but she just had to eat some. She took one of each kind, put them in her pocket, returned the container to the shelf, and went to the corner of the side room to eat them. They were glorious. On Christmas Eve morning, Fannie Lee began to worry about eating the candy and cookies. She knew her mother would be opening the boxes for everyone to share. Maybe it would be Christmas Day before they would eat the sweets. Would she get a whipping? Much to her relief, Christmas Eve night came and it was time to go to bed. The cookies and candy were still on the shelf in the little closet. But with the excitement of Christmas and being nervous about eating the sweets, Fannie Lee couldn’t sleep. For a while, she cried. Then she decided she wouldn’t be in trouble since it was Christmas and she felt good and excited. It wasn’t long until she cried some more. She pretended to be sleeping when Mama came to her bed. She didn’t move at all, although it was hard to be still. Soon after Mama left the room she could hear soft noises coming from the direction of the Christmas tree. Could it be Santa? She just couldn’t stay in bed. She crept as quiet as a mouse across the floor to the door, which had been left slightly open. The lamp was burning in the living room, making big shadows that willowed like ghosts on the walls. Fannie Lee was scared, but not enough to make her go back to bed. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw her Mama hanging presents on the Christmas tree, a little truck and a bag of blocks for Wellington, and for her a blue lamp with a clear glass chimney. It was just the right size to sit on the table in her playhouse. It was perfect. Fannie Lee didn’t think she could be any happier when, to her surprise, Mama tied a doll on the tree. It wore a blue checked dress and small black shoes and white socks. It was the most beautiful doll she had ever seen. She watched as Mama went to the closet to get the candy and cookies. Fear gripped her chest. Mama opened the boxes. Fannie Lee heard her sigh and watched her shake her head. Mama spread the candy and cookies on white plates, sat them on the table beside the tree, and covered them with a clean cloth. Then she went to bed. Fannie Lee hurried to her bed. She stayed awake as long as she could, thinking of the doll and lamp. It only seemed like minutes when Wellington woke her up to come to see what had been left for them. They gathered their presents from the tree, jumping up and down and squealing. Mama and Papa sat in their chairs by the fireplace, watching. After they settled down to play with their toys, Mama passed around the plates of cookies and candy. When she handed them to Fannie Lee, she winked at her and smiled.
THE EMPTY CHAIR AN ESSAY BY RUTH BARNES
I open the door and walk past the empty chair. The chair that my Father sat in. As I walk into my Mother’s kitchen, I am still very aware of the empty chair. Everyday, until one year ago this past October 2, 2013 when I would open the door, my Father’s spot was a chair next to the front door. He would have his hat on and a lot of times his sunglasses. Sometimes he may have on two pair of sunglasses, one of those being on top of his head! He would hold up his hand and give me a high five and we would laugh!
festivities and celebrate? Everyone has their own way of dealing with the loss of someone they love, and mine is to celebrate my wonderful memories of him and know he is in a better place.
I walk back into the living room and stare at the empty chair, and try to see him sitting there, and I can. I smile and go over and sit in the chair and try to remember and I do. I can sense his presence and feel him in my heart and soul, and I know he is there.
We gather in the living room in front of the Christmas Tree as we hand out the beautifully wrapped packages. There is a gift under the tree and the tag says, “To Dad”. We place the gift upon his chair and say, ‘he would love this”.
As the Holidays approach us, there is also sadness, that my Father will not be in his chair or sitting at the head of the table for our Holiday Dinner. It is an odd feeling, a void, and also an awareness that he is with us in spirit. For all of us that have lost a loved one, I believe the holidays are the most difficult. We think, how can we go on without them? How can we sit down to our Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinner
My mother sets his place at the head of the table, and I now take that place. I feel his warmth streaming through me and his loving arms around me, as tears roll down my cheek, and he wipes them away and tells me, I am here and I am good with my soul.
My children deliver the packages to each person, a tradition in our family that was started a long time ago. They are now 24 and 19, but they still enjoy the tradition of handing out the gifts. The paper and bows start to fly as everyone opens their gifts. The laughter and joy fill the room as we celebrate this Christmas day with family and friends. I look over at the empty chair and smile, and my Father smiles back at me, and says, Merry Christmas!
Bathe Well.
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CREATE A HOUSE BECOMES A HOME
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PATTERN
TRUDY HONEYCUTT
WINTER DEER
Learn how to make these country-style muslin deer. The deer - a family of mammals that includes the common deer for many of us, such as white tail and mule deer, but also includes larger members of the species such as elk and moose. This deer is just a primitive deer, representing the deer family, but not intended to be specific to any one type!! It’s a FOLK deer! I believe he will take us through many seasons, including Winter, but on into Summer and beyond as well. I can see him displayed in some fake snow with some bottlebrush trees for a winter or holiday display! Have fun with him, reduce and/ or enlarge the pattern to make a family of deer. I made my deer from muslin, but you might want to use another fabric. I like to wash the muslin first, to remove the sizing, but that is an optional step. Trace the pattern onto doubled fabric, and use the tracing line as your sewing line. Leave open where indicated, and then trim to about an 1/8th to a 1/4th inch, trimming closer in tight curved areas. Turn, clip all around, and stuff with your choice of stuffing. I use polyester fiberfill, but there are other options out there. You might even try some sawdust for a very early style primitive deer.
your deer’s main body piece is fully stuffed, close the opening by hand. The ears and the tail are not stuffed. Once turned right side out, tuck the open edges in just a bit, and hand stitch in place onto the body and head of the deer. I used very small stitches, but since this is a primitive item, you might prefer a more visible primitive stitching. I grunged my deer using a mixture of strong coffee, tea, vanilla, and cinnamon and baked the piece at a low temperature, turning frequently. Line a cookie sheet with an old towel, cover with parchment paper, and watch carefully. If your climate allows, and there aren’t too many birds, you can dry your piece outdoors in the sun. After the deer was dry I sanded with a fine sandpaper, and stitched the eyes with some black embroidery floss. The antlers are little sticks that you might find in your garden or yard. Mine were actually from some rose bush trimmings that I had allowed to dry well. Make a little hole, drop a tiny bit of glue, and push the sticks into the stuffing until stable. Feel free to email me if you have questions or comments. theheadcrow@ aol.com
I like to stuff firmly, especially in the small areas like the nose and feet. After
TRUDY HONEYCUTT | CROWS IN THE ATTIC
SUE PARKER
A HAND CRSFTED SEASON—A PEEK AT REPURPOSED TRADITIONS
Traditions are kept by the certain magic of sharing them –whatever “they” might be — among family and friends. By imbuing a holiday with them, a collective memory of the annual event is passed along the generations in taste, color, song and story. Traditions evolve as they’re enjoyed in familiarity; the best nod to all that’s fresh among those that share in them, with something new added each year.
has been used as such for some time!
More than any other American holiday, Christmas is tethered to childhood through a web of memories. Many of our fondest recollections are fragranced with yuletide’s annual treats, those fancy cookies and lovely cakes that beg us still to indulge each season. Along with those home baked confections, carols and of course, gift giving form the cornerstones of so many of our holiday traditions.
You must know something like that… something you recall from Christmases past and still might see on your mother’s hutch, mantle or Christmas dinner table?
So, while the season simply wouldn’t be as fond in memory without the scents and tastes we know and adore, there’s another truly handmade tradition to note. Each year, amongst the platters of sugar cookies, eggnog and rum drenched tortes, chances are there’s something handmade that’s serving to set a mood as holiday décor, and
It’s often these decorations that are touchstones in memory; they’re the handmade something that comes out of its box in basement or attic year after year to stand sentinel to the season, again and again. The object – whatever it is -becomes dearer as the years accumulate along with the patina of age.
For me it was a small hand-carved wooden Santa I played with each Christmas as a little girl. He slid down a thin spring only for me to pull him up and drop him time and again with his sack of toys into a flocked paper chimney. He was special to me because I played with him year after year while he was out of his storage box and displayed on the coffee table. I adored that this tiny handmade decoration waited for me, much like I waited for Christmas each year, a child truly smitten with the season.
PRODUCED BY: JEN O’CONNOR
Most of us – even if it was a decade or two ago – have made some kind of holiday decoration and kept it from sentiment. Or maybe what we treasured most was something handmade and given to us as a gift …something for the home or tree that reflects the season and its sparkle. Indeed, crafting for the season was de rigueur in the earliest of modern Christmas celebrations. The idea of gifts or decorations being mass produced and widely available is something that has come late to this largely handmade holiday, and seems to miss the festivity’s spirit. As gift giving emerged as a tradition in Germany, Austria and soon after in England, the dark evenings of fall and early winter were spent making special treats by hand to gift loved ones. Early American celebrations followed these Western European ways, and small wooden trinkets, knitted things and hand cut paper whimsies were all common gifts to present as tokens of love and friendship at the holidays. How perfectly wonderful to still share something handmade; a simple gift from the hands is a gift from the heart. As we reach to preserve and refresh the tradition of handmade and add to our own Christmas memories, nothing could be more fitting for the holiday than the freshly repurposed crafts from Skippy Doodle Designs of Columbia, Connecticut. Crafting maven and designer Sue Parker concocts the sweetest of holiday décor from castoffs and vintage loot. In her merry and able hands everything from recycled cigar boxes, forgotten tree-trimming paraphernalia and
even tinsel fragments find new life on her one of a kind assemblages. Indeed her studio reflects the North Pole as she merrily combines textures and objects creating a crop of new holiday décor that simply suits the season’s folly and joy. Among her favorite techniques are marrying disparate castoffs in color to tell a new story. In her able hands and with a dose of festive imagination, an oddball 1950s paper house might meet up with a lonely reindeer and become something more fitting in a frenzy of mica drenched snow. Likewise, a wayward elf finds a new home among vintage bottle-brush trees and wee tarnished bells. Her pieces each tell a story of Christmas past with a nod to the freshness of recycling and renewed crafting traditions. Handmade things hold all the joy and sentiment with which they were created. Season after season they can be visually relished, and then tucked away to keep the good memories in store for the next holiday. So, if you don’t have something handmade around the house to help celebrate the holiday, consider the handmade spirit of the season and reach for something – or gift something -- that can become dearer as it holds the memories of each annual celebration. FOLK would like to thank Sue Parker for sharing her festive handmade creations with our readers; her work is presented exclusively at EarthAngelsStudios.com and at their Art Girls’ RoadShow events and appearances.
GATHER
SHARING THE TASTES OF AMERICA
THE CRANBERRY A PRETTY, LITTLE, FESTIVE FRUIT If you had to narrow it down to just one, where is your favorite place to be this time of year? Perhaps it’s in a field of Christmas trees, wearing boots, jackets and scarves with a saw in hand while you examine and take turns with your family members on deciding which is the best tree to cut down. Or maybe it’s on a neighboring doorstep with a group of loved ones holding candles and singing Christmas Carols. It may even be on a snowy mountain with skis on your feet getting ready to plunge downhill. When I asked myself this question, I only had to think briefly before I knew my answer. For me, it’s simple- in my parent’s kitchen, baking away, dancing and singing to our menagerie of Christmas CD’s like the Nutcracker soundtrack or, of course, Michael Buble’s Christmas album. Every year my mom asks me, “So what cookies are we going to make this time?”, even though we always end up making the same ones. We’ll
mix in a new one every now and then but really there’s nothing quite like tradition. We are bakers. I’m always asked why or how I started photographing food. I just chuckle and say, “If only you knew my family”. At any given day this time of year you can find us in sweatpants and sweatshirts, my mom wearing the same green knit and my dad in his ‘vintage’ red Christmas sweater with a silly Christmas tree on it, baking away, splitting up tasks and making delicious food. Even now, this early on in my life, I know that moments like these will one day be my fondest memories, if they aren’t already. No other ingredient screams Christmas quite like the cranberry. It’s a pretty, little festive fruit. Tangy and sweet. Full of nutrients and grown in what I personally think is one of the most fascinating ways. It holds such versatility- it stands strong in salads, drinks, desserts and savory appetizers alike.
STORY & PHOTOGRAPHY: RIKKI SNYDER
CRANBERRY PEAR CRISP WITH CINNAMON STREUSEL TOPPING 5 peeled, cored Bosc pears 1 cup frozen or fresh cranberries 1/2 cup sugar 1 cup all purpose flour 1/2 cup soft butter 1/2 cup brown sugar 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss pears, cranberries and sugar in a large bowl. Let stand for 15 minutes before transferring mixture to an 11x7x2-inch glass baking dish. Combine the remaining four ingredients in a medium bowl, using your hands to evenly mix. Sprinkle over fruit in dish. Bake for 45 minutes or until streusel topping is golden. Serve warm or cool.
CRANBERRY MEATBALLS 2 pounds ground beef 1 teaspoon parsley flakes 2 Tablespoons soy sauce 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1 cup uncooked quick-cooking oats 2 eggs, beaten 1/4 teaspoon pepper 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/3 cup catsup Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. Roll into 2-inch balls, arrange in a shallow baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes. Drain and spoon sauce over meatballs and continue baking for 15 minutes. Makes about 36 meatballs. Sauce- Whisk together all ingredients in a medium bowl 16 oz. Can jellied cranberry sauce 12 oz. Bottle chili sauce 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed 1 Tablespoon lemon juice
CRANBERRY CASHEW SALAD 1 1/2 cups dried cranberries 1 quart white wine vinegar 4 or 6 thyme sprigs Peel of 1 lemon cut into slices 1 bag of mesclun mix 1 cup cashews 8 oz. Package crumbled bleu cheese For dressing: Combine 1/2 cup dried cranberries, white wine vinegar, thyme and lemon in a glass bottle. Cork and place in a sunny window for 2-3 weeks. For salad: Combine remaining 1 cup of dried cranberries, mesclun mix, cashews and bleu cheese in a large serving bowl. Pour over dressing, toss and serve. If desired, top with grated lemon peel.
SPARKLING CRANBERRY PUNCH 3 Tablespoons sugar 12 whole allspice 3 cinnamon sticks 8 cups cranberry juice 3 bottles ginger ale In a saucepan over high heat, combine sugar, allspice, cinnamon sticks and 2 cups cranberry juice. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer 10 minutes. Cool and refrigerate. In punch bowl, strain cranberry mixture, discarding spices. Add remaining cranberry juice and ginger ale. Makes about 16 cups. Tip: serve with orange sherbet for an extra delicious punch treat. — rikkisnyder.com
HI, I’M KYLE WHITE. I’ve been making pictures for a little over a year and love to shoot mainly film. I’m currently in Utah which provides many great scenic opportunities to make good pictures.
These shots were shot with a my trusty Nikon F100 35mm film camera coupled with a 85mm 1.8 lens. The Nikon F100 is fairly cheap, easy to use, and widely known for being a solid film SLR. To me film is worth the extra time and effort since it produces art like results that match what is in my head while I’m taking the shot; in essence, my vision.
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left photo: Sweet Pickins | center photo: Crown Point Cabinetry | right photo: Shangri~La Lane
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PHOTOGRAPH BY: BLAKE PACK “Winter is Coming no. 3” shot with a Nikon f100 50mm lens, Kodak gold film.
BRENTWOOD ~ COOL SPRINGS ~ LEIPER’S FORK ~ NOLENSVILLE
Stories as unique as you are. AN ESSAY
GRETA MCDONOUGH
A New E
LISA FOX,OWNER LEIPER’S CREEK GALLERY
FIND YOURSELF IN OUR STORY. VISITFRANKLIN.COM
The New England of my memory i drenched and sandy lobster-boile summer. Spring break, 1978, saw Jo, heading north of the Mason-D as any self-respecting college stud Our destination was Boston and i the whole of New England had b twenty-seven inches of snow less t We had a free place to Plans were made, my bo packed to the gills, and with a bor headed out for Boston, Marblehe where we would stay in a carriage My name is Lisa Fox and I’m the ownercousin, of the artist. We looked at a what with the distance and our tim Leiper’s Creek Gallery. I’ve been in Leiper’s Forkstraight through, a dis should drive 1 100 miles. for 11 years. Initially, I was sent to paint a mural for If youth is wasted on the Aubrey Preston and was here for six months. While brains are not. I spent time here, I fell in love and did not want to a few problems We had unfortunate stretch leave. I would hang out at lunch with everybody at of the Pennsylv three in the morning where both o Puckett’s and talk about mending fences and chasing and running on adrenaline, hallucin cows and just absolutely fit in because Icreature grew running up onacross a the road, a Groton, which cost farm. And I was a painter so I loved the countryside us we time. We hours later at her cousin’s carriage and painting the countryside. When it from came time Abbot Hallfor and the Willard p me to leave it was evident that I just belonged here. ’76.” There he fed us sandwic Aubrey had remodeled an old Gulf Station building romaine lettuce and avocado and and asked me if I would run it as a gallery. I never no longer in Bowling Green, Kentu foreign and sophisticated that, hon expected to do any such thing. I was scared to death, myself and my but I took it on and it’s been a learning process coarse ways from t among us. ever since. Every day is a new day. We really have Whichan would be just abo encounter in the next six days. awesome stable of artists, some of the best local artists Jo’s cousin was older and around and I’m really proud of that. who made his living at the time by structures. He assured us it consiste