DECEMBER 24, 2025 – The outside environment today, this day before Christmas, was “Blah, humbug!” After the blizzards and bitter cold that raged earlier in the month, an erratic mercury turned our local environs into an icy, crunchy, dirty-snow landscape. A featureless overcast matched the ugly ground cover in unattractive appearance. These black and white and gray conditions sapped the cheer and color right out of outdoor Christmas decorations up and down neighborhood streets.
I knew the ski conditions at nearby “Little Switzerland” would be no more appealing than our driveway, which, with its patches of compressed old snow and ice looks like Labrador at this time of year from an altitude of 36,000. Nevertheless, for mental and physical health, I needed to get out of the house and away from a growing “To Do” list.
Near the entrance I use to access “Little Switzerland,” I encountered two young guys dragging their plastic sleds and clad in sliding garb, including red vests—a splash of color reminding me that despite the dull gray surroundings, we were at the heart of “The Red and Green Season.” I wished them a “Merry Christmas!” and they reciprocated and added a cheerful, “Have fun!”
“Will do!”
The drab and gloomy surroundings now seemed less so. I glided down yesterday’s tracks to the back base of “St. Moritz” for the first hill climb of my workout, as it were.
For the next 45 minutes I embraced the icy, ungroomed front of “the mountain,” skating up and hanging on for dear life on five descents. I gave myself the pick of possibilities—Shackleton’s ill-fated expedition to Antarctica; Fritjof Nansen’s arctic explorations; back down in Antarctica with Roald Amundsen; then switching north again with Admiral Peary—a fellow Bowdoin Polar Bear—as he trudged toward Santa’s workshop. Given the present occasion, of course, I chose Peary and the North Pole.
Suddenly, nothing around me was drab or gloomy, gray or depressing. The air was filled with Christmas magic, as I imagined Santaville in frosted gingerbread majesty atop St. Moritz. When a few young kids and their parents appeared with an array of plastic sleds and saucers, ready to convert the ski hill into a high speed luge track with no guardrails, I transformed them (in my imagination, at least) into a group of raucous elves from The Workshop, taking a much needed break from the day-long task of loading The Sleigh.
Each time I “summited,” I reached into my pocket and pulled out sugar cubes for the reindeer. The animals were in fine fettle, but taking no chances . . . given the weather forecast . . . Santa had already called Rudolph to active duty. His nose shone like a mountain top beacon signaling his eagerness to get underway.
After dodging the elves on their hellbent trips down the wide open face of “St. Moritz,” I skated across the choppy flats to the x-c track—now fairly wrecked by unfavorable weather—and continued to the old stone pedestrian bridge. There I ran into my friend Dan, on foot, out walking his hunting dogs. I stopped to exchange greetings and chat for a minute or two. Just as I was about to encourage him to continue around the bend so he too could lay eyes on Santaville, I hesitated. I didn’t want the dogs to rattle the elves—or the reindeer.
By the time I packed my skis back into the car, the surroundings were back in “Blah Humbug!” mode. But I wasn’t. I felt very much hopeful and invigorated. I reminded myself that we’re now on the brighter side of the winter solstice—at least in the northern hemisphere. With each day ahead—for the next six months, anyway—we’ll be blessed with a few more minutes of daylight. If I’ve learned anything in 71 years, it’s that as dark and cold and uncooperative things might be, Christmas heralds a turnaround, a season of hope against a world of despair. Today’s outing in “Little Switzerland” was bright reminder.
No matter what your religious tradition—or in the full absence of any—may the lights, music, food, and above all, the exchange of good cheer of this season round the world, warm your heart and rekindle your hope. And in the gloom, may Rudolph’s light and Santa’s irrepressible magic make you smile.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
