Christmas 1944 in the small community of Harlan, Michigan, seemed quieter to me than previous ones. I was thirteen years old. The winter had been a cold one and this night was blustery, snow swirling and drifting. Dad had cut a small pine tree from the back woodlot and we had decorated it with the usual stringed popcorn and colored paper chains. Mom and Gene and I made taffy candy, the kind you pull until it gets stiff.
But there was no way we could keep from thinking of Dean, serving in the Navy and the last we knew he was somewhere in the western Pacific Ocean area. Margie was home and because she had a job in Traverse City, there were pretty wrapped gifts under the tree for us all. Dad had kept the farm going but it had been a difficult year. Rationing was affecting every part of his farm life. Stringent requirements to purchase gasoline – one “rationing calendar” entry in the Cadillac Evening News dated July 31, noted “Use #7 stamps good for four gallons through September 21.”
Mom’s rationing book was no simpler: “Stamp 13 good for 5 lbs. thru August 15; stamps 15 and 16 good for five pounds of canning sugar up to October 1, Stamp 14 valid for 5 lbs. from August 16 thru October 1.” The war effort with its constant news on the radio and battle reports in bold letters almost daily in the newspaper– it was a subdued time for families all over the country.
As I sat here in my apartment a few days ago, I thought of this past year and how Covid-19 has seemed to permeate all of our lives almost hourly for the past nine months, much like the war effort in past years. The stunning increase in deaths due to this virus is sad.
Perhaps those of you who were not around in 1943, are experiencing some of the heaviness of these tragedies in the same way Americans felt during World War Two. We are a resilient people. We are a free people and our resources are being used to fight this coronavirus even as we did in those war years. I wish for each of you a time of peace and reflection during these beautiful days of Christmas. May we look to the year ahead with hope and believe in its promises.
Oh Ginny, Like you my heart returns to a farmhouse on Harlan road. Cousins visiting up from the city, candy making, stacks of plates to wash, snow forts and slides to build. Unable to be with those nearest and dearest to me it would be easy to become bitter about the lost holiday season. But if it keeps our family whole and we focus on the future virus free, we can bear it. Blessings to nurses, teachers and frontline workers who are working like never before imagined to keep our society running in what ever fashion they can. Hang on there farmers and business owners, the end is in sight.
Be safe Ginny, looking forward to a visit next year.