Snow is beautiful once again.
Having recovered from the big storm, I reminisce about last week's annual Christmas Tree lighting in town. We've been going for years. It does have a sort of magic about it, like this town itself.
There were the Madrigal singers in Renaissance Costume, Santa was atop of the town's Engine No. 1, and the Christmas Tree was across the street from where we waited for the magic moment.
Snow fell gently. It wasn't cold that night.
Shops on both sides of the street were open, offering free hot chocolate and food. Toddlers, children and teenagers roamed the main street, usually crowded with cars trying to maneuver in heavy traffic.
This annual affair is a microscopic view of my town itself. Architecturally beautiful, the town has many historical houses and monuments. In the early days, the town was a country retreat, reachable only by railroad train. The train station is in the center of town and also serves an underpass below, which connects three intersecting streets.
Visitors to my town often remark, "Oh, my, this is so beautiful. I'd really love to live here.
I especially used to hear that from co-workers who were in this part of the country from, say, California. The famous train station is still a train station, but now it serves commuters, rather than summer home visitors. An old, frame gazebo is across the street.
Up the street leading to the center is the small town Green or Common, with benches for sitting, flowers (in summer) and a time capsule to be opened in 2084, two hundred years after the town's founding.
Winslow Homer used to live in this town, when it was part of Cambridge.
But on the night of the town center Christmas Tree Lighting, even the usual 'hurry, hurry, hurry, rush, rush, honk, gotta get going', spirit of many a day had quieted. The usual raucous clamor of commerce was silenced. The street was blocked off to allow full pedestrian access.
Throngs of townspeople were out. Many exchanged greetings and seemed so excited to see each other again, as if they were meeting a long, lost friend. More likely, they had met up with each other at the market yesterday. It is a quiet, polite, trusting town.
This is very important.
We heard the madrigals, saw the elves giving out candy canes, heard the band, heard the DJ playing a lot of Frank Sinatra, and watched people move in and out of stores.
In this event, people talk to people they don't even know.
The town prides itself on maintaining its image as somewhere between the late century and the 1950s. So, as we stood there waiting for the tree lights to come on, I felt nostalgic for the spirit this event had stirred in me many times before.
The word was not yet on my tongue.
"Ah," the crowd cried out.
The lights went on. For not only did the lights of the Christmas Tree light up, but also so did all of the 19th century-fronted stores, which had hung carefully placed strings of white-bulb lights across the tops of the facade, looking like so many gingerbread houses at night.
It was then I remembered what I had been missing.
Suddenly, the world around us changed: we blinked and saw pixie dust before our eyes, and then we were forever transformed back into the world of our childhoods.
I can't wait until next year.
Copyright 2003, Randomedia, Kathryn Esplin
Copyright 2006, The Tree Lighting, Kathryn Esplin
The Tree Lighting
Having recovered from the big storm, I reminisce about last week's annual Christmas Tree lighting in town. We've been going for years. It does have a sort of magic about it, like this town itself.
There were the Madrigal singers in Renaissance Costume, Santa was atop of the town's Engine No. 1, and the Christmas Tree was across the street from where we waited for the magic moment.
Snow fell gently. It wasn't cold that night.
Shops on both sides of the street were open, offering free hot chocolate and food. Toddlers, children and teenagers roamed the main street, usually crowded with cars trying to maneuver in heavy traffic.
This annual affair is a microscopic view of my town itself. Architecturally beautiful, the town has many historical houses and monuments. In the early days, the town was a country retreat, reachable only by railroad train. The train station is in the center of town and also serves an underpass below, which connects three intersecting streets.
Visitors to my town often remark, "Oh, my, this is so beautiful. I'd really love to live here.
I especially used to hear that from co-workers who were in this part of the country from, say, California. The famous train station is still a train station, but now it serves commuters, rather than summer home visitors. An old, frame gazebo is across the street.
Up the street leading to the center is the small town Green or Common, with benches for sitting, flowers (in summer) and a time capsule to be opened in 2084, two hundred years after the town's founding.
Winslow Homer used to live in this town, when it was part of Cambridge.
But on the night of the town center Christmas Tree Lighting, even the usual 'hurry, hurry, hurry, rush, rush, honk, gotta get going', spirit of many a day had quieted. The usual raucous clamor of commerce was silenced. The street was blocked off to allow full pedestrian access.
Throngs of townspeople were out. Many exchanged greetings and seemed so excited to see each other again, as if they were meeting a long, lost friend. More likely, they had met up with each other at the market yesterday. It is a quiet, polite, trusting town.
This is very important.
We heard the madrigals, saw the elves giving out candy canes, heard the band, heard the DJ playing a lot of Frank Sinatra, and watched people move in and out of stores.
In this event, people talk to people they don't even know.
The town prides itself on maintaining its image as somewhere between the late century and the 1950s. So, as we stood there waiting for the tree lights to come on, I felt nostalgic for the spirit this event had stirred in me many times before.
The word was not yet on my tongue.
"Ah," the crowd cried out.
The lights went on. For not only did the lights of the Christmas Tree light up, but also so did all of the 19th century-fronted stores, which had hung carefully placed strings of white-bulb lights across the tops of the facade, looking like so many gingerbread houses at night.
It was then I remembered what I had been missing.
Suddenly, the world around us changed: we blinked and saw pixie dust before our eyes, and then we were forever transformed back into the world of our childhoods.
I can't wait until next year.
Copyright 2003, Randomedia, Kathryn Esplin
Copyright 2006, The Tree Lighting, Kathryn Esplin
The Tree Lighting
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