Blue Ridge Country Nov/Dec 2024 - 50

'Santy
cusses
just like
Daddy
does!'
'Santy Clause'
Arrives
Long ago in a big family living near the Virginia-North Carolina
border, the Christmas visits were magical, unpredictable and
occasionally frightening.
BY EULA GOLDING WALTERS | ART BY LILLIE KETTERMAN
in a red suit and wearing a scraggly
beard. In a flash, he reached under the
table, grabbed me by the foot and tossed
me in his burlap sack. Screams of terror,
pounding fists and Sister Shirley wielding
a broom caused him to spill me out. He
grabbed one of the pumpkins as he ran
out, holding his back, with his HoHoHo
sounding more like OhOhOh!
Santy always managed to vary his
method of surprising us. One Christmas
Eve, as the hour grew late, Mother told
us that Santy had come and gone, leaving
no toys, because we had been too loud.
Saddened and chastised, we lined up for
the nightly trip to the outhouse. Lo and
behold, there on the porch was a pile
of toys, oranges, peppermint and horehound
candy sticks.
We quickly forgot about the cold air as
N
estled between the Blue Ridge
Parkway and the
bottom of
Fisher Peak Mountain-with its
highest point in Carroll County, Virginia-our
small farm gave back to us, the
Golding family of 10, all things necessary
for our survival. The rich soil produced
an abundance of food. Scraps fed the
barnyard critters, that would, in late fall,
provide a fattened hog for slaughter, as
well as a Sunday dinner rooster, whose
long, sharp talons no one would miss.
If we hankered for other meat, opossums,
groundhogs, rabbits and squirrels
were abundant. Our only supplements
required to get us through a long, cold
winter were a 100-pound sack of pinto
beans, sugar, coffee and salt.
The thought of those long, cold win50
BLUERIDGECOUNTRY.COM
ters brings Christmas Memories to my
long-ago childhood mind. As far back
as my memory takes me, Santa (Santy
Clause to us) was a part of Christmas,
in some way, at our house. Although the
farm produced our sustenance, it did not
provide money to buy Christmas gifts.
Those Christmas Eve visits by Santy
Clause more than made up for the scarcity
of gifts.
My earliest memory of the old man
occurred the Christmas before I turned
4. Christmas Eve, 1947, found Mother
baking pumpkin pies in the wood stove,
while the four of us at that time played
" Grab a toe " beneath the kitchen table.
Suddenly, a loud knocking and HoHoHoing
sounded at the door. Before we could
run to Mother, Santy appeared, dressed
we played with our new toys in just our
underwear. A wagon for Brother John,
books and barrettes for my older sisters,
Shirley and Janet, and a coveted black
baby doll for me.
As Christmas grew near the next year,
John began devising a plan to have his
much-worn wagon traded in for a new
one. On Christmas Eve he placed the
crippled wagon directly in the path Santy
would use. Surely, he would see it and take
pity. We were quiet as four mice as we
waited for his appearance. Suddenly the
quiet night burst forth with sounds of yelling,
tumbling, ohs and ouches. And what
even sounded like curse words. We ran
outside to see Santy tumbling down the
hill, and toys flying every which way.
" I'll never bring him another blanketyblank
wagon! " he was muttering, as he
limped around to the far side of the house.
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Blue Ridge Country Nov/Dec 2024

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