This is a
true story that took place near Rexburg, Idaho in the year 1907. It was taken from the personal journal of the
great-grandmother of Tamara Stitt from Rexburg.
The true
meaning of Christmas is charity, and charity’s true meaning is the
unconditional love of Christ which is that unconditional love of our fellowmen.
My
Grandfather was a rough, tough old trapper who homesteaded what is now called
Burnscreek. It is located about fifteen
miles above Heise Hot Springs on the road that is still traveled today. He trapped furs for a living and sent them
East to Boston every fall, and every fall the fur trader in Boston would send
him a check for the furs that he had received.
In the year 1900, the fur trader did not have the money to send for the
furs. Being a man of honor he sent his
seventeen-year old daughter to grandfather in place of the money, as a mail
order bride. She was to become my
Great-grandmother.
The reason
she kept such a detailed journal was to keep from going crazy. She wrote of how bad she hated Burnscreek and
what a cultural shock it was from Boston.
She never could quite forgive her father for doing such a thing to
her. When she made this entry in her
journal she was twenty-four years old and expecting her fourth child. She wrote:
“I asked
Carl to take the remaining furs to the valley and trade them for the things I
had on my Christmas list. I am somewhat
embarrassed at all that I am asking for.
Peppermint, chocolate, and a piece of yard goods to make a Christmas
dress for my only baby girl. Carl
heartily agreed to take the furs to the valley and trade them for needed
supplies and the items on my Christmas list.
He told me that he would be home early on Christmas Eve morning and
would stop and chop down a Christmas tree for the children on his way
home. He left us in fine shape with lots
of wood chopped and the only thing to do was go to the barn and milk the old
cow.
"The first
day was delightful! We made ornaments
for the tree that father would bring home, and Christmas pudding. Late that night a tremendous storm hit the
mountain. It snowed and blew like
nothing I have ever seen before. The
storm did not subside until early on Christmas Eve morning. The wind was still howling but I could hear
the old cow bellering in the barn to be milked.
I tried to get the door of the cabin open but after working for over an
hour, I decided that something had frozen it shut from the outside. eHeH
"I panicked and took
the ax from beside the hearth and chopped the hinges off the door and slid the
door aside. I was then in the face of a
tremendous ice strip that had fallen off the roof of the cabin. I took the ax and chopped a hole through it
big enough that I might step outside. I
could not believer the devastation that the storm had left, how high the drifts
were, and how hard it was still snowing, and how hard the wind was still
blowing. I could still hear the cow in
the barn and had empathy for her and knew she had to be milked. I got less than a few yards when I realized
that being with child I dare not go any further because the snow was well above
my waist. I stopped and said a prayer to
Heavenly Father that Carl would hurry home early and that the poor cow might
forgive me. I spent the rest of the day
waiting for Carl in great anticipation.
I thought of the bad attributes the old boy had but how many good ones
he had too. He is a man of his
word. He loves his family and his
children very much, and is always dependable.
That became a great concern when Christmas Eve came and went, and Carl
had not returned home.
"I was about
to put three cranky children to bed when I heard someone outside the cabin. We all rushed to the door and slid the door
aside once again to peer out the little ice hole. We all anticipated seeing Carl. My heart sank for there on the other side of
the doorstep stood the dirtiest, straggliest, old trapper I had ever seen. But to my three little ones on Christmas Eve,
an old man with red long Johns, a long white beard, a tree in one hand, and a
pack over his back was a most welcome sight.
“See mother, Santa did find Burnscreek after all.” He looked at me and must have felt my great
anticipation for where my husband was and felt my hesitation to let him into my
house. He stared straightly into my eyes
and said, “Beth, don’t be afraid. Carl’s
at table rock at Spaulding’s trapper cabin with a lame horse. I was out on snowshoes this night and I told
him I was going to check my lines and that I’d stop off and tell you that he
was alright, that he’d be home early in the morning and that I would bring you
this straggly old tree and this pack that he’d brought from the valley.
"I brought
him into the cabin and fed him stew from my fire. He helped set up the tree and helped the
children decorate it. I judged him to be
of fine character because he could recite the story of Christ’s birth by heart
from the bible. He carried the children
to bed and helped put out the meager Christmas gifts. Carl was a master carver, and had carved
teams of twelve horses and sleighs for the little boys, and doll house and
furniture for our little girl. The old
trapper chopped more firewood and milked the cow. I asked if he was not anxious to get on his
way and be with his own family his night.
He told me he had no family of his own, but he thanked me sincerely for
letting him spend such a wonderful Christmas Eve with my family. He then asked if he might spend the night in
the barn and he would lave early in the morning to go on the Black Canyon to
check his traps. I told him only on one
condition, that he would join us in the morning for Christmas breakfast. He heartily agreed. He thanked me once again and retired to the
barn.
"This was
the first chance I had had to look into the old, worn leather pack that had
been sent by Carl. I went to bed a very
happy woman, for there inside the bag was peppermint, chocolate, and a little
piece of yard goods. I awoke the next
morning to the gleeful sounds underneath the tree and it was late morning
before I realized that the old trapper had not joined us.
" Just as I
was going to the barn to holler at him I saw Carl coming over the horizon. We all gathered at the front door to welcome
father home and all were in wild anticipation to tell him, “Guess who we have
locked in the barn in Burnscreek, Idaho?”
Carl looked stern and tired and sent the children in the house, and
asked who was in the barn. “Well Carl,”
I said, “It is just the old trapper who came last night and brought me the tree
and the pack and to tell me that you would be home early this morning.” He said, “Beth, I never even made it to the
valley. I only made it as far as Table
Rock when the storm hit, and I went to the Spaulding’s cabin and tired my horse
to a tree.
“An old
trapper had tried to water his horse at the river (south fork of the Snake
River) and fell through the ice. It took
three of us to fish him out, we could tell he was a gone, but we took him into
the cabin and rolled him in blankets, and laid him by the fire and stayed with
him until early on Christmas Eve when the storm broke. We hesitated and pondered what to do, but all
three of us were anxious to return home to our families on Christmas Eve, so we
stoked up the fire a little, wrapped him a little tighter, and left him lying
in front of the fire. We saddled up our
horses and started down the trail, but I got less than a few hundred yards when
a feeling came over me that I could not leave that old man alone on Christmas
Eve to die. I sent the other men on and
I returned to the old boy where I held his head in my lap. Once in a while when he would regain consciousness
I would tell him about you and the children and how much I loved you, and how
disappointed you’d be that I never made it to the valley to get the peppermint,
the chocolate, and the little piece goods of yardage that you’d so desperately
wanted for Christmas. Early on Christmas
Eve night the old boy died in my arms, but it was too late for me to go to the
valley and come home so I waited until morning.
"At this
particular moment I couldn’t understand what was happening as I ran to the barn
to show Carl that there was an old boy in the barn. So Carl followed, but there was no one in the
barn and there was no snowshoe tracks either.
I stopped and pondered and prayed.
I got a wonderful, peaceful feeling as I told Carl, “I read in the Bible
once that when you show charity to a fellow man Heavenly Father sometimes lets
you entertain an angel in your home. I
told Carl that I thought I had had an angel under our roof last night. He scoffed at me and told me there had been
no angel in his home. So I took him by
the hand and led him in to the Christmas tree and pulled out an old worn
leather saddle bag and inside showed him a small bit of peppermint, chocolate,
and a little piece of yard goods."
Ironically
enough, sixty years later great grandmother was at my parents home when she
died on Christmas day. I was just a
little girl and she left me her diary, this story, a little piece of yard goods
wrapped in white tissue paper, with a yellowed note that said it should never
be used because it was fabric from an angel, and to remember that true charity
and the true love of Christ was to be shown three-hundred and sixty five days a
year. Charity is one of the most
important traditions that we can establish.
It is sometimes hard to receive, but it is the greatest gift of all!
