The wind began to pick up last night shortly before I went to bed. Throughout the night, its presence was undeniable. Strong gusts rattled the house, sending vibrations through the walls, while the occasional thud signaled that something had tumbled through the yard. I half-expected the power to go out at any moment.

At just after 6 a.m., I awoke, prepared to witness the aftermath of the storm. Snow had been forecasted overnight, and I was eager to see a fresh, white blanket covering the ground. I shuffled to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and peered out the window. To my disappointment, there was no snow—only the telltale signs of the wind’s mischief. Items were scattered across the yard, confirming what I already suspected.

Since it was garbage day, I braced myself for the cold, throwing my coat over my robe before heading out to haul the cans up the driveway. The wind still had a bite to it, and on my way back down, I took a moment to gather a few items that had been tossed about.

Then, there was my sleigh.

Last autumn, I had the opportunity to purchase a 1914 Portland Cutter Sleigh—a dream I had chased for two years. It needed some work, but the price was right, and I couldn’t pass it up. Lacking a proper storage space, I covered it with a tarp and secured a portable garage over it—a metal frame structure with a tarp cover, the kind you can get walls for. To protect against the wind, I had opted for a lower height, using only one section of legs. Even still, last night’s gusts had knocked it over, leaving my sleigh exposed to the elements.

With snow and freezing rain expected in the coming days, I had no choice but to wrestle it back into place—alone, in the wind, as snowflakes began to drift down around me. When the job was finally done, I retreated indoors, cold but satisfied, wrapping my hands around a fresh cup of coffee as the warmth of the heaters chased away the chill.

As I sat, my thoughts drifted to a time long past—a time when people didn’t have the luxury of electricity, central heating, or even the simple convenience of weekly garbage collection. Winters were long and harsh, with no escape other than to endure. Families huddled together by the fire, not just for warmth but for companionship, telling stories, singing songs, and finding ways to pass the time.

But winter was never a season of idleness. There was always work to be done—sewing, repairing tools, tending to the home, and preparing for the year ahead. The cold months forced people indoors, but they made the most of that time, turning necessity into tradition, labor into togetherness.

And isn’t that the essence of Christmas? It’s more than the festivities, the lights, and the presents. It’s the gathering of family, the sharing of stories, and the quiet resilience of working together to prepare for what’s ahead. Just as our ancestors used the winter to fortify their homes and lives, we too find ourselves tending to chores—securing a sleigh, braving the wind, hauling the garbage cans—reminders that some things never change.

The stuff of Christmas isn’t just in the grand celebrations. It’s in the moments of simple labor, the warmth of coming inside after facing the cold, and the way we hold onto traditions that have carried through the generations. Winter may test us, but it also brings us together. And that, after all, is the real magic of the season.

Father Christmas of the Three Mountains