As I sit here thinking about where to start I realize that it would take a big book, a tome, in fact, to record my childhood Christmas memories. For that reason, I’ll just mention a few…

Living in the back of a general store was always a unique experience, but even more so at Christmas time. Mom lived for Christmas. She and Dad brought in special items for the festive season. An open barrel of peanuts in the shell, with a serve-yourself bucket attached, stood just inside the front door. Japanese oranges in wooden boxes were stacked nearby. Candy canes, striped sugar candy, egg nog and probably Christmas baking ingredients that I didn’t recognize as such were prominently displayed. Mom always had decorations in the windows and hanging off the poles at the ends of the counter where the cash register sat.

A couple hundred yards south of the store sat the Montney Hall. It was there that the most amazing Christmas concerts were held. Planned and led by the amazing Mrs. Nelson, Montney’s school principal, they took all of us Montney kids out of our comfort zones and up on to the stage in front of the entire community. From that plywood platform, it seemed as though there were thousands of people sitting in the darkness behind the homemade stage lights.

The little Lutheran Church was just across the road from the store. I wasn’t a big fan of going to church as a rule, but the Christmas Eve service was always worth attending. I don’t really remember any jaw dropping sermons, but the Christmas carols seemed to sound better that night, especially when the lights were turned off and everyone in the congregation held a little candle while we sang. The candles were stabbed through a special piece of white cardboard so that wax wouldn’t drip on to our hands. When I was older (maybe 12 or 13?), I remember Owen, Del and I being asked to pass out the candles, light them, and then collect them at the end. I smile thinking about how big a deal we thought we were.

I do have one Christmas memory that is extra vivid this year.

In 1967, snow machines (we called them all Ski-Doos back then), started arriving in the valley. Our neighbours, the Parkers, had one. In fact, they had two! I don’t remember which family was next to get one. I just remember feeling sorry for myself that we didn’t have one, and I have no doubt that I begged to the point of being obnoxious.

On a bright, sunny and mild Christmas Eve in 1968 I was across the road playing at Parker’s place. For some reason, in the middle of the day, I decided to go home (it’s possible that Del ticked me off). As I walked up the slight incline between Parker’s and home I saw something that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. My dad, in just his shirt sleeves, with no hat or gloves, was riding a ski-doo along side the store heading in the direction of our garage. When he saw me he stopped, smiled, and told me that the cat was out-of-the-bag and that I might as well take it for a spin. It took a minute to sink in that the ski-doo was brand new and it was ours. Dad had been hoping to sneak it into the garage and then let me unwrap the keys on Christmas morning. Although I ruined the surprise I actually like the way the story turned out. I can still see Dad kneeling on the seat of the machine and smiling from ear to ear.

That ski-doo would go on to travel hundreds of miles throughout the Montney valley.  Sadly, after I left home and Mom and Dad moved to Camrose in 1979, it sat unridden, and un-rideable, at my Uncle’s farm in Montney. Forty years later my son, Cy, took it on as a project. This fall, after hours of learning, experimenting and tinkering, the 1968 Bombardier Ski-Doo Olympic is again making tracks in the snow!

Calita, my daughter in law, took this video of him taking a test run up the street in front of their house just the other day. I’ve always said that he looks like Dad but seeing him kneeling on that old yellow snow machine took it to a whole other level.

A Montney Merry Christmas to you!