A German Christmas Memory
The Christmas before my 6th birthday, my German Oma and I went to visit my great-grandparents in Sulzbach-Rosenberg, a historic town in Bavaria. Ur-Oma and Ur-Opa Renner lived in a stone tower that had once been part of the city wall, a watchtower with the original embrasures. Great-great-great Grandpa Leonard had purchased it in 1853, and made it a home. It was passed down through the generations. A small square build-out that contained the kitchen and living area had been added to the ground floor in the 1950’s.
A narrow, winding staircase led to the second and third floors, which had round stone rooms, then continued to an attic with a dormer window overlooking the adjacent town to one side and open fields and forests to the back. My imagination would soar: Rapunzel needed to be rescued, Snow White and Rose Red lived in danger, and the Evil Witch roamed the woods beyond the fields with her poisoned apple, while a handsome Prince tried desperately to save everyone.
My Aunt Sieglinde and Onkel Georg also lived in a town home in Sulzbach with my cousin Ruth who was a few years younger than me, still a toddler. She watched with large eyes while I cut designs out of red, silver and gold foil paper to add to the Tannenbaum, which was yet to be cut from the woods behind us. It was customary to put up the tree and decorate it on December 24th, put the gifts under it and celebrate Christ’s birth that evening. I waited impatiently for the big night and watched the snow clouds pile high in the frigid sky, and alternated between wishing for the beauty of snowfall and a clear night to accommodate us on our quest for the perfect tree.
The special night came. The clouds clustered in groups, giving leeway to the full moon and a bright North Star to guide our small group through the early winter dusk into the deep forest. Ur-Opa carried the sharpened ax. I watched my breath form as I breathed out, and tried to blow it away, only to create more vapor. The icy cold burned my nostrils as I breathed back in. Our boots crunched in the brittle snow and sometimes I would sink in up to my knees and we would have to veer onto a new path. We picked out a small spruce, and a few hefty whacks felled it neatly. My uncle wrapped a gloved hand around the lopped trunk, sap oozing. I grabbed a side branch and we headed back, reverent in the stillness.
After we returned home, Ruth and I were banished to one of the upstairs rooms while the grownups decorated the tree and put out the gifts and snacks. We waited impatiently, straining to hear the final tinkle of the little bell that signified the Christmas Angel had visited and all gifts were out; it was time for the Bescherung or gift-giving. We ran downstairs and burst into a wonderland. Our homemade foil stars glittered in the tree with other silver and gold ornaments, picking up the reflection from the candles on the advent wreath which now had all four candles lit. Small candles in holders were also placed carefully on the tree branches and tinsel was hung like snow on the moist, dark green limbs. Brightly wrapped gifts winked at us in the reflections from the candles. Pfeffernuss cookies, lebkuchen, marzipan and Stollen cake sat on the kitchen table.
It was magical.
