Christmas at the Farm

Red sky in the morning, Santa’s warning!

My second weekend at the farm dawned with a blazing red sky and frost on the ground. It felt far too early to be awake, as I made a flask of soup and pencilled on my eyebrows. Not at the same time, I should point out, that would be weird, and quite difficult! I’m slightly aware that a red sky is meant to portend bad weather, and I’m not looking forward to experiencing a downpour in Christmas Town, where there aren’t many places to shelter in a huge crinoline skirt … I don’t feel quite so cheery this morning, but I’m determined to make the most of it. Even in the rain, it’ll still be fun, I tell myself.

I get to my post (my post is actually a candy cane outside my gingerbread cottage) just before ten in the morning, and I look around me, breathing a sigh of contentment. Santa is in his grotto, and all is right with the world. The festive music is playing without a hitch, it’s crisp, but not too cold and the first of the children is entering Christmas Town, about to make their way down Candy Cane Lane, and past my base in the North Pole. There’s nothing to be apprehensive about! I wave cheerily to the little one, a big smile on my face.

My post.

The child’s face crumples and they hide behind their father’s legs, and I realise with a sinking feeling that they’re going to cry, aren’t they? This has to be a record. I’ve already caused several children’s bottom lips to quiver – all it takes is talking too loudly, or waving my hands around a bit too vigorously, and we’ve all done it. One of the elves was distraught last week because they popped out from behind a Christmas tree and pulled a face, causing a little girl to dissolve into floods of tears. Since day one I’ve got better at sensing when a breakdown is imminent – you can see the hesitancy before the eyes start to well up. After the first day, I had perfected the technique of backing off, saying ‘I’m going to stay right over here and I promise I won’t come any closer …’ But a simple wave, from half-a-football-field away? Am I doing something wrong?

We’re busy all morning, and the first part of the afternoon, but by about three o’clock, the sky has begun to darken. The promise of the red sunrise began to come true as the first drops of rain began to fall. Mrs. Claus reminded me that my dress doubles in weight if it gets wet, so I look for shelter in the reindeer food store; I decide that I’ll help the visitors with their reindeer food instead of telling them about my gingerbread cottage, but all the visitors, like us, are seeking shelter. No-one comes near the increasingly muddy gingerbread cottage. The elves have disappeared, also keeping dry, no doubt, and Mrs. Claus has gone off to do story time. For the second time today, I feel a little bit disheartened.

It’s getting muddy near the gingerbread house.

But then, in the distance, I see a flash of purple. One of the elves is dancing through the puddles with her umbrella, even though there are no children watching she’s still wrapped up in her character. I find myself grinning, despite the rain and the crying children, there’s still real magic here. And even as I realise it, the rain begins to slow, and then stop as the last few rays of the evening sun shine out from behind a cloud.

Red sky at night, Santa’s delight.

Image from Pixabay, user 8982496

Christmas at the Farm

On the second day of Christmas …

It wasn’t an auspicious start to the day. I was woken at about 5.30 in the morning by the sound of the rain lashing against my bedroom window. My first thought was that I was going to spend a whole day outside in the pouring rain, my gorgeous crinoline getting wet and heavy with the rain, trying to hide in the reindeer feeding station. My second thought was much along the same lines, and then I tried to go back to sleep, but the rain wouldn’t let me. It continued to pour down until I reached the farm, and then, miraculously as I climbed out of the car the rain stopped. I won’t exactly say that the sun came out, but it did stop raining.

I headed for the gates. They were locked. Santa, Mrs. Claus and one of the elves had got in with no problem, the rest of us were stuck outside, while the farm staff were feeding the animals. We decided to climb over the fence, and the first elf clambered nimbly over followed by the second elf who leapt the entire fence, gracefully in a single bound. When it came to my turn, Mrs. Claus eyed me dubiously and advised me to be careful not to fall off.

Ready for work, we walked to our positions. Everything still smells of rain, but it isn’t actually raining, although there are huge puddles all over the place. I’m standing at the entrance to the ‘North Pole’ because the ground is firm there; the rest of the North Pole is becoming rather muddy after all that rain. As if on cue, a rainbow appears in the sky.

Image from Pixabay, by TyceGates

‘Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!’ booms out through the speakers to start the music for the day, but no music starts, and Santa appears to be stuck on a loop. ‘Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas …’ over, and over again as the first visitors appear. I’d like to go and tell someone in the office, but I don’t know where the office is, and I don’t want to desert the North Pole. After what seems like an interminable wait, the music eventually starts, and the day has begun. One of the elves splashes through the puddles, and so do several children!

Today, my opening line is ‘Welcome to the North Pole! I’m sorry we didn’t manage to bring you any snow, but we’ve got plenty of muddy puddles, so watch your feet!’ It’s quieter than yesterday, not so many children, and they’re only coming through in ones and twos, not huge groups. We have one party who have never been to a Christmas event like this before, and are in a state of bemused amusement. The young lad, maybe upper primary school age, wants to dance with me for his family’s camera. He quite clearly thinks that I’m entirely bonkers. I probably am, so I happily oblige. I’m having fun, and so, it seems, is he.

Image by ZTasel from Pixabay.

The morning flies. Other than the odd sprinkling of raindrops, it isn’t cold and it isn’t very wet. I only have to hide in the feed store once, and not for very long. A little girl tells me that she wants a book for Christmas and she’s going to read it on Christmas Day. I suggest a roaring fire, some hot chocolate and a gingerbread man to go with the book and I want to adopt her on the spot, because she’s got exactly the right idea of how to spend Christmas Day! So many of these kids are modest in their demands for Christmas. Dolls are popular, one child asks for a basketball, another for some painting things. The most extravagant gift is ‘a little bike’ and none of them are asking for phones, consoles, games …

The afternoon darkens rapidly after about three o’clock, and the sky threatens rain again. The crowds start to thin out and soon there is no-one left to talk to, except the elves and Mrs. Claus. As the day ends and the last visitors wend their way home, the first drops of rain begin to fall.

Image by 7089643 from Pixabay

Christmas at the Farm

First morning

I was early, I’m always early for everything, and on arrival at the farm I was too early for the 9.15 meet-up in the car park. I’m a bit nervous as it’s a long time since I’ve done anything quite like this. I had a brief word with some of the cows, who looked at me as if I was mad and I went over to the duck pond, where the ducks were happily splashing about. It was cool, but not too cold, dry, and a watery yellow sun was rising over the duckpond. A perfect day for being on the farm, if not exactly festive.

Image from Pixabay, Pixel2013

In our dressing room, Santa and some of the elves had got there just before me. Our transformation was swift – in minutes we all went from ordinary looking people to magical characters. Each elf has a character of their own: one elf is a tailor, one is in charge of the post room for Santa, one is full of mischief and loves stealing candy canes. The young people who are playing the elves are an absolute delight, and it turns out that it’s a pleasure to work with them all. Within half an hour I’m feeling a lot less nervous! Santa looks enchanting, a traditional old-fashioned Father Christmas in a rich red coat with golden embroidery. His grotto, complete with sleigh, is positively magical. I find myself wishing that I had small children to bring to meet him, and I’m starting to feel a festive tingle in the air.

Image by Victoria Borodinova from Pixabay

I put on my own costume. I have a crinoline skirt and I’m secretly delighted. I’ve always wanted the opportunity to wear a crinoline, and I love it from the moment I put it on. I have a full length, wide-skirted coat which goes over the top, in a beautiful shade of dark red, trimmed with gingerbread men. I utterly love it! I was born to be Mother Ginger, I decide as I twirl my skirts. Mrs. Claus tells me that if it rains I won’t love it quite so much, because it will get wet and weigh about as much as several reindeer all put together.

I’m excited as the gates open for the first time. It’s a beautiful day for December, not too cold, not too wet. The lights on the Christmas trees twinkle, and before long there is a steady stream of children arriving with their parents. I realise quite quickly that my elaborate backstory isn’t going to work – there just isn’t time to tell each child all that. By half-way through the morning, I’ve shifted to asking them not to eat my gingerbread cottage, please, because I don’t want any holes in the roof of my house.

One little girl eyes me up speculatively, and eyes up the gingerbread cottage; I suspect she will be a lawyer when she grows up, she’s remarkably clear sighted for someone so young. She can see quite plainly that I’m not going to fit into the cottage, crinoline or no crinoline. ‘You don’t really live in there do you? It’s just pretend!’ she says, quite rightly. I agree with her. Yes, it’s just pretend, and make a mental note to alter my story. From now on, I don’t live in the cottage, which is clearly much too small for me; it’s where I keep my gingerbread men, and I don’t want them to get soggy if it rains. Nobody will see through that one, will they?

Image from Pixabay, Flutie8211

The day absolutely flies. We sing carols, we chat to children, the elves get up to mischief, Mrs. Claus tells stories and Santa gives out presents to shiny-eyed little ones who really, truly believe in him. Before I know it, the sun is setting and the lights shine out in the dusk. It’s time to go home, and change back into my normal self in jeans and a jumper. I wonder if Mrs. Claus would notice if I sneaked the crinoline into my backpack to take home with me?

I think she probably would.

Christmas at the Farm

Tomorrow is the day!

Three pairs of socks? Check!

Sheepskin gloves? Check!

Thermal base layer? Check!

You’d think I was off to conquer the Alps, or at the very least Helvellyn. No, I’m going to the community farm down the road. I’m not visiting it, mind you, I’m going to be working there weekends and school holidays until Christmas. I’m going to be Mother Ginger. She’s a friend of Santa and Mrs. Claus, you know, and she makes all the gingerbread to go into children’s Christmas stockings, and as such she will be waiting to greet hordes of excited children as they visit the farm over the next few weeks.

Gingerbread. Not made by me, but image from Pixabay (PublicDomainPictures)

She will be doing this, outside in whatever the weather has to throw at us this year. Given the amount of snow we’ve already had, I thought it would be wise to buy the sheepskin gloves. However, from the weather forecast, I’m more likely to be soaked by a downpour tomorrow than trekking through the snow and ice.

Christmas trees in the rain. (From Pixabay, user 3111)

I’ve been creating a backstory for Mother Ginger. She makes all the gingerbread men, and she has elves to help her decorate them – one smily face and three gumdrop buttons are what a gingerbread man needs! However, one of the elves got a bit carried away and created a gingerbread man in a pair of running shoes, and he’s run away. Now she’s looking for the naughty gingerbread man, but he keeps on running, calling over his shoulder ‘Run, run, as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!’ as he vanishes off into the distance. I’m hoping that the children will want to help me try to spot my missing gingerbread man …

Gingerbread man. From Pixabay, Anncapictures.

I’m not entirely sure what to expect. Part of me is leaping up and down with excitement and possibilities, and the fact that Christmas at the Farm sounds almost like a novel title! However, the other part of me is looking nervously out of the window, and wondering if one pair of sheepskin gloves will actually be enough, and just how deep the mud is going to get if it rains all day tomorrow.

The one thing that I’m looking forward to most of all is that I’ll be doing something to help make Christmas magical for children, now mine are more-or-less grown up. The flickering candles of excitement in the eyes, the half-heard tingle of bells, the smell of frost in the air … and that’s just me!

See you at Newham Grange Farm tomorrow!

New Directions

Lake District weather …

I’ve finished another book. This time I think it might be commercial enough to tempt a publisher (none of my usual black comedy and awkward characters) so wish me luck with the book currently known as “Summer Showers at Elder Fell Farm”.

It features a remote and beautiful campsite, a single mum and a widowed dad, two mischievous boys and a deflated air mattress. Oh, and lots of rain.

I bet you can’t guess where it is set!