Do you remember when Christmas was filled with a spirit of love and compassion for all? This was a time when even non-Christians shared our enthusiasm, and had no issues with wishing us a “Merry Christmas”.
These were simpler times. I don’t remember arguments over equal rights for every nativity display, and it was OK to have a Christmas tree at school.
A family came together to share their wonderful food, and old stories. We all expended huge amounts of energy on shopping, decorating, and cooking. The harder we worked, the greater our reward.
I’m 61 years old and I still remember the favorite gifts of my childhood. I was living on a farm in Aurora, Oregon. It was the Christmas of 1960, and my grandfather bought me a set of traps. Never in my life had I been this excited over a Christmas gift. We opened our presents on Christmas Eve (family tradition). This meant I needed to wait until tomorrow morning to go trapping.
All I could think about that night was what those traps represented to me. These were not toys. These traps were the beginning of commerce and independence in my life. With the money I would make off the pelts, my life was about to change.
It was a two mile hike to the Pudding River; sometimes you could catch a ride with your thumb, but there wasn’t much traffic at 5am. It was cold and wet that morning, but my enthusiasm kept me warm.
I finished setting my last trap around 6:30 and headed home for breakfast. My grandfather had shared all of his trapping secrets, like positioning your traps just above the waterline. This insured that the prey would fall in the water and drown before he had a chance to chew off his own leg (I can hear the PETA people screaming).
As you might imagine, I slept very little the next night. What would I find in my traps? My grandparents were still staying with us for the holidays, so I would be able to show grandpa my first haul. He would also be there to help me prep the pelts.
As usual, it was cold and raining when I got to the river. I had to lie on the ground to slide under the barb wire electric fence. This was the only way back to the slough where my trap line was located. The excitement was overwhelming by the time I reached my first trap. There it was, a staked chain leading into the muddy water. This could only mean one thing. I watched it for a minute to see if there was any movement. I didn’t want to pull up an angry wild animal. After assuring myself it was safe, I pulled the trap from the water. My God; a big fat dead muskrat with no legs chewed off (just like grandpa said).
The first days yield produced five muskrats. I was kind of hoping for some beaver or raccoon, but I was proud of what I had.
When I got home grandpa showed me how to skin and stretch the pelts. It was probably the most quality time I had ever spent with my grandfather. My dad didn’t like him much, and called him the dumb Swede (he was my mother’s father).
As it turns out there wasn’t that much money in muskrat pelts. I continued to run my trap line into the summer, but it was getting old and starting to interfere with my other chores. I could make more money bucking hay or working in the hop fields.
Although my career as a great trapper was ending, the bond between my grandfather and I became stronger then ever. I had a chance to learn something of him and his generation.
These are the things that make Christmas a very special time for families. I hope in some way we can continue these traditions.
Chuck Bertrand
Tags: childhood, Christmas, family, gifts, grandma, grandpa, grandparents, pelts, politics, presents, trapping