The Christmas Village

Every Christmas, my grandmother gave her yardman a handful of cash and an errand. The woods are full of Christmas trees, Joseph, she told him seriously, and we're going to let them stay that way. And Joseph would climb into his rickety old pick up truck and go in search of a suitable Christmas tree lot. He would return and haul the tree inside where Nana and he would set it up in the living room on an ancient wooden stand - Nana didn't hold with the new fangled metal kind - then he retrieved the handmade tree skirt and the Christmas village from the attic, got all the ornaments out and the lights strung, and he and Nana would have a small glass of eggnog. Merry Christmas, Joseph,
she said and raised her glass. Merry Christmas, Missus, he would say in return, drink his eggnog, and leave. He had worked for her for most of his life and this was the only time of year that he was allowed inside the house.

The Christmas village was meticulously set up in front of the fireplace. My grandmother and I got on our hands and knees and laid cotton for snow. We tucked in all the tiny lights and then set up the church, all the little houses,
the picket fences, the trees and the village square complete with gazebo. Miniature people were in doorways and miniature deer grazed off to one side of the woods. There were tiny snowmen in tiny yards and children pulling sleds.
Nana unwrapped every piece slowly and carefully and handed them to me for placement, always with a reminder of how delicate everything was. The village had been passed down from her mother and her mother's mother and she treasured it.

When we were done, she would take my hand and lead me to the entry hall where she flicked a switch and the entire village lit up in a blaze of light, twinkling and casting shadows over the room. The room had been transformed to a wonderland and it was officially Christmas. Nana put on Christmas music and we spent the rest of the night piling presents under the tree by the lights in the village and on the tree. Before she sent me to bed, we sat and drank a small glass of eggnog together while she read me "The Night Before Christmas". There was peace on earth all through the house.