Holiday Stories & Poems

 

 I heard that Martha, over at Beyond the Literary Horizon, was going to do a Christmas themed blog party and, since I love Christmas, I quickly agreed to join. There are just 4 of us bloggers so you should have time to visit us all each day. And there is a giveaway. I hope you'll join us every-other-day for more Christmas fun! Let's get started!

Holiday Stories & Poems

So many stories and poems! I LOVE a good Christmas story. Some that I love have been told in poetry style, others are picture books for children. Some are novellas or short stories, others are novels. It always amazes me when I find out people have never thought of reading Christmas stories at Christmas time. Or people who have only read one or two Christmas stories.

I'm aiming to change that. 

And one way to do that is by writing my own Christmas stories.

These short little scenes were written to go with the Christmas Village we set up every Christmas time.

 

    The little village of Garlandsburg, along the coast of New England, was full of Christmas cheer. All the shops and houses, the church and even the lighthouse on the cliff, were trimmed with green boughs brought from the nearby woods and festooned with red ribbon bows. A thick blanket of snow lay everywhere, in which the children of the village reveled, while the cold weather had frozen the pond into a perfect skating rink. The air was full of good cheer as last minute shopping was done, and merry were the voices on that frosty Christmas Eve day. Even the sleigh bells seemed to ring in pure joy of the season.

    Barnacle Bill, as everyone called him, was busy at his boat house. He whistled a merry Christmas tune as he worked on a boat out in front. Tomorrow he would take the entire day off to enjoy the holiday, but today, ah, today he would work. The shouts of fresh young voices caused him to look up. His twin sons, Brandon and Brian were having a snowball fight. It seemed as though Brian was losing for he dodged around the corner with his brother right at his heels. Barnacle Bill paused. The boat could wait a little longer. Quietly he packed a dozen snow balls and then waited for his sons. Soon they were back. Brian had the upper hand now and was pursuing Brandon. With sure aim, the boat maker let fly his ammunition. The sudden onslaught caused the boys great astonishment. They thought their father was too busy to play. But with wide grins, they returned the fire.
    Before long, the snowballs were flying thick and fast as father and sons pelted the others with winters’ cold ammunition. Around the house the three combatants raced, hurling the snow as fast as they could scoop it up and pack it into balls. Across the yard Barnacle Bill raced before leaping the stone wall where fresh, un-trampled snow waited for him. The snow drift was so deep, however, that he sank in clear past his knees and was at the mercy of his boys.
    The merry shouts and laughter caused Mrs. Bill to pause in her pie making and hurry to look out the window.
    “I declare, Betty, it does my heart good to see your father having a little fun.”
    Betty hurried over to her mother’s side to see what the fun was. “Do you think, Mama, that Father will go back to work after this?”
    Mrs. Bill pursed her lips. “He won’t if we put his tools away.”
    “He shouldn’t be working on Christmas Eve anyway,” Betty agreed, hastily pulling on her coat.
    Rapidly, yet quietly, Mrs. Bill and Betty gathered the few tools and slipped back inside.

    “Whew!” Barnacle Bill sighed as he collapsed in the snow to catch his breath after having with great effort, been helped out of the snow drift. “I haven’t had that much fun in years.”
    Brian looked at Brandon meaningfully before speaking. “Do you think you could go down to the pond with us and Betty after a while?”
    “Well,” their father began to reply but got no farther, for Mrs. Bill called from the house, “Come and have some hot chocolate and warm cookies to thaw you out.”
    With a cheer, the three snow covered figures headed inside where the fire blazed brightly.
    When Barnacle Bill went back to his boat, he couldn’t find his tools. Then, since no one would tell him where they were, he consented with good natured grumbling to go skating instead.
    “Just be home in time for Christmas Eve supper!” Mrs. Bill called after them.

    The air around the Hearthstone Bakery was filled with tantalizing smells of freshly baked breads, cakes, pies and other delectable, mouth-watering and enticing goods. Peter, the oldest son of Baker Stone, hoisted yet another sack of flour onto his broad shoulder and carried it out to the waiting cart. There were deliveries to be made before dark. After setting the sack in the cart, he paused to call “Merry Christmas!” to the approaching sleigh carrying the Reverend Goodman, his wife and daughter. Then, turning back to the warm bakery, Peter re-entered the shop.
    “Here you are, Mrs. Johnston,” Mr. Stone was saying. “And Joel, are you going to carry this loaf of bread home?”
    Young Joel nodded as he carefully held the large loaf handed to him.
    “Thank you, Mr. Stone. Have a merry Christmas, oh, I almost forgot, your horse is ready whenever you want him.”
    Mr. Stone thanked her, and she and Joel turned to leave.
    “The cart is loaded, Father,” Peter announced straightening his baker’s hat and dusting his hands on his apron. Most lads his age would have scorned to wear an apron in the kitchen, much less be seen in one, but not Peter. It didn’t matter what others thought of him as long as he was doing his best to please his father.
    Mr. Stone opened the oven door, and the spicy smell of cinnamon buns wafted across the kitchen and into the shop.
    “Ah, now that is what I call a pleasant Christmas aroma!”
    Peter turned. It was the postman with his hands full of mail.
    “I’ll make a trade with you, Mr. Stone,” Postman Owen chuckled. “These letters for a hot bun.”
    Peter grinned. It was a holiday tradition for his father and the postman to exchange freshly baked goods for the mail.
    As the baker was taking one of the hot buns from the pan, he turned to his son. “Peter, run over to the carriage house and fetch Sugar. You should start on the deliveries a bit early so as to get home for supper.”
    Peter nodded, taking off his hat and apron and dashing upstairs for his coat, scarf and cap. Coming into the shop once more, he suddenly paused and thrust his hand into his coat pocket.
    “Pastry!” he exclaimed pulling out the family cat. “My coat is not the place to have your kittens.”
    Mr. Stone laughed. “I don’t know what we’ll do with kittens. You wouldn’t be wanting one, Owen, would you?”
    Postman Owen grinned. “If one was named Cinnamon Bun, I might.”
    Peter joined in the laugh as he gently placed the cat on a burlap bag near the oven.
    “Any thing else to add to my deliveries, Father?”
    When the baker, already busy rolling out a pie crust, shook his head, Peter and the postman headed out into the frosty, Christmas Eve afternoon.
    “So long, Peter,” Postman Owen called. “See you at the Christmas Eve service.”
    Waving gaily, Peter headed down the cobblestone road to the carriage house.

If you need more Christmas stories, you can head over to my Christmas Stories page and check out what I have. And you might want to check out my posts on Read Another Page since I'm sharing a different Christmas story each day!

 

Don't forget to check out the other blogs who are participating in this fun Christmas party! And enter the giveaway!

Beyond the Literary Horizon

Little Blossoms for Jesus

Culinary Scribbles

Have you ever set up a Christmas Village?

How many Christmas books have you read this year?
Have you read any of the Christmas stories I've written?