waiting… ~ part two ~ advent series ~

When and how did it start? I’m not certain. Was it during my college stay or my early years of working? My meagre pay in those days often left my snack drawer bare. Admittedly, I am a salt craver over sweets, but I suppose in those lean years I would have taken anything offered, even a leftover candy cane. 

The day our Christmas tree went up started with mom’s request. “Try to find a blue spruce.”

Snowmobiles were pulled out and gassed up. A hand saw was located.  Then Dad and us kids hit the trails through the local woods looking for a suitable coniferous. The trees were all pretty scraggly. It only needed one full side, destined to be placed in the corner of our living room. There were few to choose from and we weren’t too picky. Once decided we took turns sawing through the sap-sticky trunk until the little tree toppled over. Then the tree was tied to a snowmobile and we headed home, as proud as the greatest of hunters. All the while hoping the good side stayed upright and not dragged along the ground. 

I’m not sure any of us knew what a blue spruce was and I’m still not certain they even naturally grow in central Ontario. But each year upon our return, no matter how ragged the tree, mom proclaimed, “Well, that’s a pretty little tree.”

The tree propped in a bucket, with glass pop bottles shoved in beside it to hold it straight, never quite worked. It always tipped and teetered, eventually needing tethering to the wall to stop it from entirely toppling over. Dad placed the star on top and strung the lights, then sat back in his chair with some eggnog to observe.

Handing us a few pieces at a time Mom directed us four kids in the decorating. “A blue ball will fit over here” or “some more tinsel needs to go over there.”

With an eleven-year difference between my little brother and my oldest sister, our range in heights generally meant we could get the ornaments evenly spaced from top to bottom. Though my brother and I never failed to have a dispute over wanting our ornaments on the same spot. The final items to be placed were the candy canes. 

Before bed we gathered around the tree, each with a glass of milk and some of mom’s homemade shortbread cookies, admiring our hard work.

Now in her ninety-second-year, mom lives in an apartment. Her Christmas tree, an artificial blue spruce, finds a spot by mid-November. It holds very few of the original decorations. The fragile glass balls and homemade trinkets have given way to an array of beautiful brass ornaments, mementos collected during my parents’ many travels to places such as Branson Missouri, New Orleans Louisiana, and Frankenmuth Michigan. 

And of course, some candy canes still find a place on her tree. The traditional red, green and white canes are the most common. Some years have seen multicoloured canes that just don’t seem to fit the season.

Shortly after New Year’s Day, the tree is dismantled, decorations stored, and lights put away. The candy canes are placed in a baggy. Now this is the curious part. Mom saves them, specifically for me! 

“I know you love your candy canes.” She exclaims with a big smile. 

I graciously accept them each year, all the while wondering, why does she think I like candy canes? The same scenario plays out every year and has been going on for some forty years now. To come out with the fact that I don’t particularly like candy canes would be too astonishing and potentially hurtful. 

Candy canes, these excessively sweet condensed sticks of sugar, have been around for centuries, so there must be admirers, others more deserving of their possession, than this imposter. Curious, I went a-googling.

It was 1670 when the choirmaster of the Cologne Cathedral handed them out to the young singers. The hope was that the candy would keep the children quiet between songs, during the living nativity. Made and sold as straight sticks, he bent the sugar sticks into the shape of a J, to resemble a shepherd’s hook, for the occasion. 

The first historical reference to candy canes in North America was 1847, when they were placed on a tree by a German immigrant. It wasn’t until the 20^th century the red stripes were added as well as peppermint and wintergreen flavouring. Some say the three stripes represent the trinity or the red and white represent the blood and purity of Jesus. 

The candy cane, though far from my favourite treat, will continue to hold a special place in my heart, signifying my mother’s kindness and thoughtfulness. And now, the candy shepherd’s cane, is also a reminder of our saviour and shepherd, Jesus Christ, who watches over us.

Recently my twenty-two-year-old daughter confessed to me she really likes candy canes. I’m grateful for that! Now I can pass on the tradition and the candy canes to a more deserving recipient. 

Thank you, Donna, for sharing Christmas from your road of life with us today!

Let’s journey together…