06 Dec 2024 Barbecued ‘Possum and Eggnog for Everyone!

Posted at 5:02 PMh in Features by

A Vivian Lawson Hogue Christmas Story

Here’s a question for you. If Jesus had not been born, what would we do from Thanksgiving to Jan. 6? I assume it would be normal business days with no year-end sales. We would have one less parade, no mulled cider or eggnog, Yule logs or decorated utility poles. No elves-on-the-shelves or Christmas trees, and dollar stores would just have displays of bunion wraps and anti-itch cream. Card companies would only have sentiments for birthdays, anniversaries and condolences. We would not have Rudolph, Handel’s “Messiah,” Nativity scenes or Charlie Brown, who actually told the real purpose of the celebration!

But we do have Christmas, and out of all of the dither does come some fine memories. Searching for a 12-foot Arkansas cedar Christmas tree was a highlight of the season for my family. In my youth, it was quite a party of four siblings and dad forging onward despite rain, snow, sleet or bullets flying over our heads. After gaining permission to search on someone’s land, three of the brothers, dad and I would stomp through fallen limbs and knee-high weeds, many with stick-tight seeds. I carried the ax. We never took a yardstick as dad measured in ax handles. Until we found the Perfect One, we rejected those with double trunks, lack of density or those that were too skinny. The sound of the ax chops reverberating through the cedar glade was a thrill as I imagined the tree decorated and reaching our ceiling.

By 1991 and at the age of 91, dad wasn’t up to traipsing through the woods looking for a tree that only he and I would hunt, cut, drag to and into his vintage station wagon, then into the house. I told him that Gerald, my soon-to-be-betrothed, and I would do it. I had only recently introduced the two, so I think he was impressed that this unsuspecting fellow would volunteer. The tree was found, cut down, hauled to the car, tied on top and headed homeward.

We carried it to the porch where dad had readied the homemade wooden tree stand. Soon his temper got the best of him as he was not able to nail on the supports. It was not yet known to him that my betrothed-to-be was a country boy and knew his way around such things. Gerald quickly had it attached and upright in the house, and dad decided he was a keeper. The next year, we purchased a metal stand with a water bowl.

Part of the sounds of Christmas were from our renowned Aunt Zula, who would sit down at our beautiful solid-oak upright piano and open up the Broadman Hymnal. She would roll those chords and sort of sing along. This is the same aunt who played piano every Sunday in her country church until the town population dwindled and the church closed. Aunt Zula had a key, though, and she played every Sunday morning in case someone entered the door.

In the kitchen, mother could be heard making peanut butter fudge, Hershey’s Fantasy Fudge and pecan, pumpkin, mincemeat and custard pies. Perhaps the most memorable event was the one and absolutely only year that Aunt Zula brought a barbecued ’possum. It lay supine in a grease-filled pan, causing nauseated family members to exit the room.

A favorite treat was mother’s eggnog without the nog. There was also a completely ugly, hairy coconut, into which dad would twist a spiral corkscrew into two of three “eyes” to drain the inner milk into a cup for me. By only seeing the corkscrew out of a kitchen drawer once a year, I never knew of any other need for it. The empty coconut was beaten with a hammer to expose the delicious white meat.

On Christmas morning, there would be a large, foot-long log of peppermint candy, which would again need the hammer. Our hanging hunting socks contained sock-lint-covered ribbon candy, fruit and various nuts. We opened our gifts of mainly homemade clothing. I never understood why mother couldn’t afford to buy everything we wanted because all she had to do was tear off a counter check at a store and fill it out.

New Year’s Eve arrived, and my dad prepared to make hot toddies. Mother had likely never had a drink in her life so he thought he would surprise her with something new. He reached for the powdered sugar, hoping to make it tastier for her. He stirred his mixture and handed it to her. She reluctantly took her first and last sip, as it tasted worse than rotten potatoes smell. He had unknowingly added alum (used for pickling) instead of sugar. I think mother learned to whistle that night because her puckered lips prevented conversation.

For all of these Christmas memories, we thank God for giving us His son on that Holy Night! He has one more gift. Actually we know what it is, but not when we will receive it. Hint: For believers, it involves a trumpet sounding and a first-class flight to Heaven, hopefully soon! What a Christmas reunion with beloved family and friends THAT will be…with absolutely no barbecued ’possums!

Vivian Lawson Hogue
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