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One might think that boys living on a mountain would have a BB-gun or maybe a real gun of some sort; and be expert marksmen – but Grey and Ash never did get one. That didn’t stop them from putting it on their Christmas lists each year. It also didn’t stop them from playing with pretend guns of all types. Grey and Ash each had a favorite “rifle” stick, in addition to their good, solid whacking-sticks.

They would find remnants of old rotten logs that were mostly gone – eaten away by time. All that was left were the hardest parts. Some might think all wood is hard, but some of it is harder than others, lasting longer when subjected to wind, snow, bugs, and rain; year after year. The knots and heartwood outlasted the rest of the log, and the boys knew these particular pieces made the best rifle sticks.

The brothers fought many epic battles with these guns, and they naturally mastered advanced tactics and riflery. There wasn’t an outlaw or robber who could match them.

One year they got a bow and arrows for Christmas. Their first real weapon! After that, they played with the rifle sticks a little less. The bow could actually shoot arrows, and this opened whole worlds of possibilities, despite the problem of having only one bow, when they were two boys.

The new bow wasn’t the only thing that made Christmas so special that year – the holiday was unforgettable in other ways as well.

Something new and unexpected appeared. In the corner of the house, next to the wood stove, sat a tree – the first Christmas tree Grey could remember. It was a Douglas Fir.

The tree made the inside of the house smell a little more like the outside, which was a welcome treat.

One could hardly imagine a family who had more obstacles between them and cleanliness. Because their little family relied on a young boy as their only source of water, it’s no stretch of the imagination to picture the difficulty in the simple act of taking a bath. It was certainly an endeavor full of effort.

When kids don’t often bathe, all the while playing and working as hard as Grey and Ash did, the pure, green smell of an indoor fir tree would be a nice escape from the usual scents that rolled around the tiny house. But it takes more than a nice smell to make a special Christmas.

The tree in the corner was eventually decorated with tinsel, white paper snowflakes, popcorn on string (with no butter or salt), and long loops of chain made from colored paper. The children spent days crafting these decorations, and the result was a glorious sight to behold. Presents started appearing under the fir tree, and the boys’ curiosity bloomed to an extent that they had never experienced before. A strong, almost magnetic pull drew the children to the tree, where they would discuss the possibilities and theories of what might be in those brightly-wrapped packages.

But it takes more than nice presents to make a special Christmas.

Christmas morning finally arrived – after taking its sweet time. Grey stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed, walking down the stairs before sleep had fully faded. As most folks know, when Christmas day is set to arrive the next morning, every kid finds it tough to get a good sleep. The little sleep they do manage to get is of considerable poor quality.

The unfinished staircase in the tiny house resonated in a fine woody tone as Grey and Ash clomped down into the main part of the house. Mom, smiling, passed them as she went up to get Beth from her crib.

The boys’ eyes widened – there were even more presents! Mom and Dad must have hidden some of them away! They stood there taking in the scene, then they saw a Thing which would make a lasting impression on their young minds. The rest of the scene faded out of their awareness.

A Thing was there – a thing of power and true beauty that could not be ignored. A Sight that bored into their eyes and crashed down into their souls like a tidal wave that could not be turned aside.

On a little table, next to the tree, was a dish. This dish was new – it was red, and green, and white. It was a delicate china dish of a type that they had never seen before. It seemed to be made just for Christmas. That in itself was impressive, but in this Christmas dish sat The Calamity – a substance of such great desire that to be in its presence ignited a fire that burned away other things, like remembering to say a polite “Good morning” to Dad as he tiredly clomped down the stairs.

This dish was full of Candy, and it utterly disrupted everything.

Candy in itself was not such a big deal to most kids of that time, and you might even be wondering why it was such a big deal to Grey and Ash. It wasn’t really the candy itself, it was that it sat there, out in the open, where young hands could simply reach, and take, at will.

It was unheard of – like a pet rabbit that didn’t bite. That bowl rested daintily on a small table, daring them to reach. And take. They could not have ignored it even if a mountain lion were to tear open the front door and light fire to the kitchen table.

Grey and his siblings did not live like most other children in cities. In modern places, sweets practically flowed; laying everywhere about, free for the taking by any child. Or so it seemed, to boys like Grey and Asher. Mom was a healthy cook, and didn’t include sugar in most foods she made. Brownies weren’t made from chocolate, oh no. They were made from something called carob, invented by the devil himself. Carob was deceptive; it pretended to be chocolate, and adults would go on and on saying things like “I can hardly tell” and “It’s such a great cocoa substitute” and “look at me, I’m eating a healthy desert.”

On the other hand, children are usually honest about what a thing is, and what it is not, unlike adults, who must continually impress themselves and each other to get along in life. Yes – carob looked like chocolate, and it tempted you to take a bite, but that is where the lie shriveled like an earthworm on a hot rock. You simply could not pretend – if you were an honest child – to enjoy carob. Grey thought it tasted exactly like the weeds that grow along the side of the roads; the tough ones that can’t be killed by traffic. Grey never ate these weeds, but he knew how they smelled when you chopped them down with a whacking-stick.

Mom’s crusade to cook healthy foods was so great that when Grey would wake up late at night to get a drink of water (he took precious small drinks, because he knew he had to refill that jug himself), he would ever so quietly pop the round, metal lid off the top of the powdered hot-chocolate drink mix. It was kept on the shelf in the kitchen in a yellow tin.

Perhaps Mom wondered why it never lasted as long as it should have, because they didn’t drink hot chocolate except for special occasions.

Grey wondered why it didn’t last long enough too. They had two sizes of spoons in the drawer, and he would carefully select the bigger one for this important midnight task. He scooped a huge scoop, as much as could be scooped without spilling, and he could carefully place it into his mouth. Pure powder could really supercharge one’s mouth and nose, and it usually threatened to create a fit of coughs as some went into the lungs too. It was completely wonderful in every way, and worth the trouble.

That prominent, easily accessible Christmas candy dish was a pointed reminder that he didn’t get nearly enough sugar. The secret nighttime scoops of powdery cocoa mix, the evil carob brownies, and the occasional sugar packet from a restaurant simply did not provide a growing boy with all of the necessary daily sugar he felt… he knew, he needed.

And so the candy dish sat there, like a black hole, with the boys in endless orbit around it. Its pull was so massive, so powerful that they could not break away.

Finally, it simply had to be acknowledged.

“Can we have a piece of candy?” Ash asked. He was the bold one.

The boys orbited the dish, waiting.

“Of course! Merry Christmas!” came the answer at last.

Mom was coming down the stairs, and she smiled. The boys eagerly picked out one piece, each. Grey picked out a ribbon-shaped piece, and Ash’s choice looked more like a pillow, a tiny, delicious pillow that he could eat.

Exactly one second passed, and their chosen pieces were gone, enjoyed in the timeless way that boys enjoy things – suddenly, without delay, and all at once.

The candy dish was still there, pulling at them with its massive presence. Grey looked at Ash, then they both looked at Mom again. Mom was still watching.

They really tried not to want another piece. The boys were genuine in their understanding that this was a rare treat of such great magnitude – they knew that one tiny piece should really be enough, and that they should be thankful, gracious, and content. But, that dish was still there. It was not locked away or hidden in some cabinet, as it should be. As it normally would be.

So it bothered them all day. With each permission given, there was always the question of one more – can we have another one?

Finally, the candy dish was empty. Grey could relax again – life was back to normal and the strange force that kept him near that small table was gone. At this time the kids remembered they had presents to play with – the great day wasn’t over yet! Grey went eagerly outside to shoot their new bow, now that the lack of candy allowed him to recall its existence.

He carefully knocked an arrow on the bowstring. The bow was blue, with a black plastic string, and it had black metal pulleys on the ends. It was a compound bow, and that made it much easier to pull back. This meant that he and his younger brother Ash could both use it.

He stood there on the stump that was the doorstep, arrow at the ready, and cast his gaze about for something to shoot. Maybe Dad and Mom should have thought this through. A boy can’t have a bow and not shoot things, and most things a family owns don’t take well to shooting. Like the tailgate of the truck for instance. Or baby sister’s toys.

“Let me try it!” Ash said, appearing in the doorway behind him.

“Okay, but I’m still trying to find something good to shoot.”

About ten feet from the front door there was a pine tree. At the tree’s base, sat the dog bowl. A little flock of birds surrounded the dog bowl. These little birds were chickadees, tiny black and white creatures that were the dictionary definition of cute. They pecked at the dog food, much in the way the chickens used to do before Dad built them a coop, far away from the house.

Grey nodded. There. He pulled back the bowstring and took careful aim. He made tiny adjustments to his arm, his head, his hand – and he let the arrow fly. The chickadees scattered as the arrow whanged off the lip of the dog bowl. The ricochet banished the arrow for all time, hiding in some unmarked grave underneath layers of dead grass and snow.

But the chickadees remained, triumphant. The boys took turns trying out the new bow, and in a few minutes decided that chickadees were utterly impossible to hit – they were much too small and much too fast. And possibly, too cute. So, they shot the bow straight up instead. The arrows were much easier to find, as they sprouted out from the ground where they landed. Watching them sail up overhead was more fun than one would imagine.

Heads tilted back, the boys gazed into the cold blue morning sky, full of white puffy clouds. The sight inspired them. They could not miss the sky, no matter how new they were to shooting. They soon learned that they could use the bow as a clever launching device. They put things over top the arrow’s point, like cans or bottles, and shot these objects into the sky. This was a lot like a rocket that carried men into space, except in this case, the “man” jumped off in mid-air and made his own way to the ground, which was tremendous fun for the onlookers.

“Shoot him up again! Blast-off!”

As they dodged the falling objects, laughing and running to and fro, Grey decided maybe he’d like to become an astronaut when he grew up. He would eat candy for every meal and take rocket rides every day.

It was truly a Christmas to remember.