First Christmas in Peoh point

Nancy or Cynthia asked about the first Christmases when I was a child---was I ever a child? Gee---I don't know if I was ever a child---but I guess that means when I was an urchin, a member of the Mohar family living on a farm in a community called Peoh Point.
Well--ummm---.We were told that if we were good we wouldn't get a piece of coal in the sock---.and if you got a piece of coal you might have been a bad boy--so the sock would also be empty--not even an orange or some hard candy, So it was a motive to be nice at all times because Santa Claus was real-- it wasn't a fake if both parents insisted that he'd come if you were good.
It's been a long time ago for me but I do recall one or two Christmases as a child.
One morning when it was very near zero outside and there was about a foot of new snow, we were told that Santa Claus came but since we didn't have a fireplace chimney, he had to have sneaked in the house some other way--it was all so mysterious, My mother said, "Look--look"! and she went to a window and scraped away the frost---, "There --there --look---there's sleigh tracks in front of the house where Santa's sled must have landed then took off to the next farm home. Sure en ough there were imprints in the snow and plenty of evidence that Santa didn't miss us like he missed so many other times as we were growing up.
We all got a new pair of socks and in the socks was some hard candy and a walnut or two and and orange. Oranges were so very scarce to us. The candy was shaped in some cases like a piece of coal and each time you reached in the sock for another piece of candy , you were worried that this time it would be a piece of coal. But in all the sins I committed as a child, I guess they weren't bad enough to earn a piece of coal---surely if I did get a piece of coal I would have been ridiculed by my other saintly brothers and sisters--that would be the worst part.
In this Christmas Morning, there was a stranger among us--- but it was hardly Santa, but dressed in what looked like an old silk sock pulled over the head and speaking very different language--, This Santa's not look alike, said he was a Santa helper, and asked spefically for my sister Ann--to come forward and look into the sack. We were all aghast ---( I have to say I became skeptical) . So Ann who was just a maybe three years old , went forth and looked into the sack. With more urging to investigate further, she reached into the sack. The package was stuck a bit, so she began to yank --then got help from a familiar looking hand. Ah Ah, here's proof I thought about the myth of Santa.That wasn't Santa's Hand!!
The package was just wrapped in ordinary paper--not a ribbon or with any color. Soo, with the package destroyed, there in was an almost life sized doll with rolling eyes and a voice which cried "MAMMA"-if you tipped the doll forward and backward. Sure enough, Ann knew there was a Santa. The doll represented a mother's love on a special day. It took quite a bit of the family money to get this doll.
So that was one of the Christmas days I remember at our home on the prairie---( not a prairie really--but in the mountains).
Later as we all became older , we exchanged presents of some sort. The best present of all was the food my mother made which was always a long day and night's labor to concoct.
WE always would have butchered a pig when the weather got cold. My mother would save the pigs feet and ears for this special day. She would clean and clean the feet. I remember the gross performance especially when she would be able to take the toes off with a quick flip of a sharp knife. The boiling water helped loosen the toes---I mean the hoofs---which were inedible at all--never. Then she would separate the knuckles and boiled all this for hours in a big pot.She would add seasoning which was moslty Garlic and onions and salt. IN the mean time she would be kneading and kneading--making big round Pizza like dough. Then she would make it into a roll about the size of a big cigar---much bigger--. Then she would cut them into marsh mallow size pieces and place them in a pan. There would be a dozen or more pans --maybe even more--lots and lots. The work never ceased. Then into the oven to bake these bread bicuits the size of a Marshmallow. . Her work bench was the Kitchen table and by now crowded with stuff.
The odor of the pigs feed cooking and the garlicky aroma filled the whole house with a festive air. It had be a fun day coming to warrant this much work.
The next chore which some of us volunteered to help was to break up the marsh mallow sized biscuits into a great big kettle--a pot--a big pot. The pot would be over flowing. IN another area Ma would have the meat grinder fastened to the table, She would be busy grinding poppyseed--these were very tiny seeds which when crushed and ground would produce an oily tasty substance. When the seeds were all processed she would add that to the pile of little pieces of bread--then spread with sugar and raisins and I can't think of anything else--then she would have a kettle of boiling water to pour over all the bread pieces and other stuff, mixing it all up with a wooden spoon till now it was about half size in the pot. It was turning out to be a poppy seed pudding which was a traditional food back in Slovakia where her family originated. A lid was placed on top to seal the aromas and to allow it to steep till next morning,
That done, she then would place on the table and everywhere any kind of dish we had into which she ladled the Pig's feet concoction--there is a name I may not be able to print for that --it is a Slovakian word--"Joolitza"---the 'j' has to be sounded like 'zhoolitsta'. It is a pigs' foot gelatin. NOW before you urp, you must know that the Jello you buy is made from this same stuff--and you like it don't you? but I know it all has to taste like candy, doesn't it?
Now with all this work done, every one was 'fasting' because of religious reasons. My mother told us too that on the very stroke of midnight, if you went out into the barn the cattle will all be talking to each other---yes that's true--I mean it was true that my Mother said it was true. She had a lot of Gypsy folklore to tell and some of it would scare the gypsies I think.
So, we would all be going to bed. Now in the mean time, Daddy would hardly be doing a thing--Ma said he was too clumbsy in the Kitchen--so he would be playing his accordion and we would be hopping around doing the polkas as Ma cooked this great big bunch of stuff.
Okay--it was late --really late and we would go to sleep in the icy cold upstairs. WE were really short of good warm blankets so we spread old coats over us to help us from freezing stiff.
Morning came. I don't remember any prayers except my Mother would make the sign of the cross on the loaf of bread cooked that same work day. She would NEVER allow anyone to 'poke' a blade into a loaf of bread. It was the same as poking the blade into Jesus side--so even today I would never stick a knife blade into a loaf of bread. I can feel how it must have felt for Jesus.
Everyone would be at the table and he would have selected a plate of "ZHoolitsa"--with a slice of fresh bread---now is the time to add pepper and salt . The Zhoolitsa was cold now, The fat would be on top and even though it is said to be unhealthy to eat fat, we did.It was food not fat--food. And tasty too with the garlic and onion flavor. Now in this island of gelatin, there was a morsel which also was very tasty--part of the knuckles. Now before you gag, you might also have bought a jar of "Pickled pigs feet" and savored them--like I do. Well--see?
After the Zhoolitsa was done, the real treat came when Ma would bring the now cold Poppyseed pudding to the table. We were allowed to eat all we wanted and we did. The raisins now were so good. We also were allowed to douse this dish with real cold cream--which was thickened by the cold weather.
We had this traditional dish for every winter I lived --for New Years too--. One other thing, on New years eve right at the stroke of Midnight, Daddy would take the old 40-60 winchester to the door and shoot one round off toward the mountain--"for good luck sake", he said.
As I said, we had this traditional food until we got a new member in the family who was an anglo for sure--who only ate meat and potatoes--. Once when Ma presented him with a bowl of this Poppyseed pudding , he ended the whole tradition with ridicule. So Ma just quit making this type foods and I miss it at every Chrismas and New Years days . I should try to make for myself a traditional meal. I wonder if the other ethnics up in Roslyn and Cle Elum still have this dish. I do know every body enjoys another traditional dish and that is "Pig in a blanket".