When I was a little girl in Fontana, California we never had snow. We watched Christmas movies and saw snow, wishing for it, praying for it, because it was a Christmastime miracle that eventually did happen to our family in Clearwater, British Columbia, Canada.
We came to Clearwater every summer (our mom was Canadian), as we had family in Clearwater and elsewhere in Canada. As kids from California we were so proud to say the whole location as Clearwater, British Columbia, Canada when sharing our favourite place on Earth.
Thinking back on non-snow Christmastimes in California comes from this year’s warmer December and less or little snow so far. Concerns now become what will occur in the spring, summer and fall with drought, wildfire potential and ever-changing environmental conditions.
Looking back — or as Grandma Lillie would say “Walking backwards in my head” — I suddenly remembered a very special storybook Christmas memory at a turning point as a little girl, to share with you all.
On this particular Christmas Eve, I had a plan as a “mature” 10-year-old. I was becoming a little more inquisitive about magical tales of Santa and Mrs. Claus, although I desperately clung to the vision of a workshop somewhere far above California, probably near Alaska, called the North Pole. There was a beautiful village with year-round snow nestled in the arms of sparkling white peaks, probably with a large skating rink (also constantly lit up with lights and decorations all year long) and hundreds, if not thousands, of elf families, reindeer with bells that tinkled like a song, and the smells of Christmas such as cinnamon, berries, pine and fir.
If I closed my eyes I saw it all come to life whenever I thought about Santa’s Village. And every year we would take a drive up to Big Bear, above where we lived in Fontana, to Santa’s Village (California version), so it just had to be exactly the same in the real village at the North Pole, only on a larger scale.
Our dad, Ross, was a newspaper editor for a large paper in San Bernardino, but for this particular holiday surprise he took a couple of days and time off to announce to my brother, sister and me that we were going on an adventure to “find snow”. Our tumbleweed snowmen (they were cute but just not the same thing as a real snowman) stood nearby on our front lawn, and we all yelled loudly with true joy as we grabbed coats and socks (we didn’t have mittens or gloves, so they would serve the purpose) and dashed to the wood-sided station wagon.
As we drove, my brother — who was our travelling comedy star — had us all laughing until we held our sides. We sang carols, snacked on Grandma Lillie’s amazing sugar cookies adorned with green and red granulated sugar, and sipped our cocoa — which Dad poured from a red plaid metal thermos — from paper cups.
We were pretty much the luckiest kids on Earth that day. Our mom, Mary, sadly was in and out of hospital for many years in our early lives, so this trip was only with Dad, but he reminded us that he’d brought his special Yashica camera that he used for work, and told us we’d take plenty of photos to share with Mom when we found our snow.
As we neared the familiar forest there didn’t seem to be much snow anywhere. A sign of times to come? Dad promised we’d find some and said not to worry. We took our time exploring Santa’s California workshop, village, and some rides, which was fun, and we loved the sights, sounds and smells that took our minds off Mom not being with us yet during the holiday build-up.
Dad prompted us to get on the snow search once again, and we piled back into the station wagon, ready to find our white treasure. Eventually, by driving up higher into the mountains, we found a dirty patch of snow. Dad suggested we make the best of the situation, so we piled as much of our somewhat less-than-white find on the hood and roof of the car.
Driving as though we had gold to deliver, we arrived back down in the valley and at our yard in Fontana on Barbee Street, quickly piling the snow next to and around the tumbleweed snowmen we’d decorated and rushing up and down the neighbourhood street to gather friends. Dad brought out little baggies and we gave every kid a bag of real true “near Santa’s village” Big Bear snow to rush home with and put in their freezer.
We kept a bunch in our fridge freezer all through the holidays to pull out once in awhile and oooh and awe at. We would imagine living in Canada, where our cousins were, and having snow all winter, learning to ski, sled and skate. That would be a dream come true.
It’s important to remember where you come from in life, where you’ve been, where you are going and what you have learned along the way. When we curse the snow at times, since moving to Canada in 1971, it’s nice to remember the magic of a special snow hunt and the magical dreams those baggies of icy, dirty snow brought to a neighbourhood in California. We ended up living our dream, moving into the arms of Wells Gray Park, a paradise even better, I think (well, almost) than the real Santa’s village. Maybe one day that dream will come true and I’ll travel in person to the North Pole. Somehow I don’t think it will be any better than our own backyard paradise right here in B.C.
Wishing you and yours a wonderful, snow-hunting, dreamy holiday season. There’s magic wherever you are. You just have to find it and tuck it away in your own special place to bring out and look at again once in a while.
