I always assume that people think celebrating Christmas at the ranch is a grand, romantic time. I’ll let you in on a secret, it really is!
I’ve spent a Christmas Eve morning riding across snowy meadows on a “one horse open sleigh”. I’ve repeatedly pulled a sled up a little hill so our daughter, her stuffed horse Bart and her (real) favorite kitty Zippy could ride down it. I’ve been pulled on skis behind a truck and an atv.
I’ve built snowmen in our yard, poured hot maple syrup onto fresh snow to make candy, broken beautiful clear ice sickles off the roof to stir drinks, collected freshly fallen snow in tall glasses to make sno-cokes, and stuck candy canes into fresh oranges to suck out the flavored juice.
I’ve also made up special Christmas dog and kitty dinners, treats for our horses, loaded extra hay and blocks for our cattle and broadcast seed onto snow to keep our pheasants and quail alive through winter. I’ve cut ice with a Pulaski, and when that didn’t work, used a chainsaw or a D4.
I’ve celebrated with neighbors, friends and family. We’ve enjoyed incredible meals, lots of good cheer, thoughtful and whimsical gifts and homemade popcorn balls around the fire.
I’ve sat silently and watched in awe, the fiery sunrise before a storm, snowflakes softly falling or the wonders of a perfect star filled sky against our snow covered Santa Rosa mountains. I’ve watched deer walk silently through our moon filled yard, and never wake the dogs. I’ve stayed up late in our darkened living room just to rock my baby daughter or hold my husband’s hand in front of our Christmas tree. I’ve padded downstairs before light to make “Sunday coffee” and eggs Bennie for Christmas breakfast.
We’ve played ice hockey and skated on a neighbor’s frozen pond, roasted hotdogs and drank cocoa by a bonfire. We’ve checked traps, shot coyotes and watched ice the size of cars break up on the Little Humboldt.
We’ve celebrated with the people we love in the place we call home. Leaving the ranch in winter is tough, so we never tried. We dug in and appreciated all our blessings.
I’ve always loved reading the story of His birth on Christmas Eve, then going outside to admire His handiwork all around me. Bethlehem seems somehow close on a silent winter night on the ranch. You see your own breath and watch perfect diamonds twinkle on the snow when the starlight hits just right. You feel warm and perfectly content when you hold the hand of someone you love, and retire to a warm house and bed.
This year, Patrice and I will be home for Christmas on the ranch. We’ll likely wake early, feed and check water for our animals, visit with Myron, probably lounge around the woodstove in our jammies, then we’ll pull ourselves together, make a drive into town in time for church and where; this year, we are honored to cook Christmas dinner for those in need. I’ll be cooking up a big turkey dinner in the basement of the Methodist Church and Patrice is promising to bake up a storm. Dinner is set for 6pm and all are welcome. After we clean up, we’ll head home, stoke the fire and probably invite all the dogs and kitties in for a proper celebration.
Emmanuel, God with us. The reason for the season, and nowhere is He more present, appreciated and loved than on a remote cattle ranch in Northern Nevada.
Kris Stewart is a cattle rancher from Paradise Valley, Nevada.
