By Amanda Cruse
For The Salisbury Post
Built in the mid-1800s, the two-story farmhouse stood atop a hill overshadowed by an old oak tree. As the Christmas season neared, red ribbons were tied, holly berries were gathered and festive grapevine wreaths were hung neatly in each window. This was all a start to the wonderful and magical holiday season.
As far back as I can possible remember, I think of my grandmother Alma Elizabeth Mauldin Weant Cruse. Everyone called her “Liz,” me included. Since I lived next door, or through the pasture ó or “over yonder” ó I spent many of my younger days at Aunt Kathleen’s, also where Liz lived.
The holidays started early “over yonder,” usually in October. Liz and I would make all sorts of goodies to freeze until the first week of December, the time when friends and family would start to visit for the holidays. We had so many guests that my aunt decided to keep a guest register, usually with six to seven hundred names a year. You can imagine that with that many people coming to your house in about a month and a half, you’d need a lot of snacks, cakes, tea, coffee and my favorite, cookies.
My grandmother’s recipe for sugar cookies was the best recipe ever, except for her meat loaf, of course. I used to love going over after dinner to roll out the dough and pick each and every cookie cutter that you have ever imagined out of her collection.
After selecting two or three dozen cutters, it would be time to put them to work. “Watch where you put them, make sure you use all of your dough because it will not roll out perfect again,” Liz would remind me, each and every second.
So I would start … back to back, side to side, cookie after cookie, until it was time to decorate them. Red and green sugar was my favorite. My tiny fingers pinched just enough sugar to fill the holly berries on the wreaths and the nose on Rudolph. But my absolute favorite was making “ugly” cookies. That’s what Liz called them, just plain ugly. The gingerbread men were the funniest; I’d make them with red hair (with red sugar) and different colored bodies (with confetti dots).
After all the cookies were decorated, the timer (mental, that is)would be set for 12 to 15 minutes ó or until Liz said they were done. She would say, “Stand back, Sugar,” as she pulled out a hot pan with golden brown cookies, ready to be put on wire racks and wax paper to cool.
Did I say earlier the cookies were the best? OK … so the best was Liz! She would be nearly furious with me before the night was over. She always scolded me, making sure I knew that bells were to be pretty with red and green sugar, not to be covered with green sugar or purple dots. I would make “ugly cookies” just to get a rise out of her: “Now Sugar!” or “Now, Amanda!” I thought it was so funny to make her upset at the “ugly” ones.
Ugly cookies, perfect cookies, gingerbread men and all, it would then be time to turn the oven off and put away the dough. All of the cookies were carefully stored in tins. I’d estimate that we made between 200 and 300 cookies a night. After all, with so many guests a year, plus family and church crowds, we went through sometimes two or three tins a night.
At the end of the night, Liz would always take me home. She would make sure I had my jacket and gloves on, oh, and the special box had to be with me as well. The special box of “ugly” and broken cookies went to Dad. He was always ready for them, thanking me graciously. (I now realize that was all sarcastic.)
Now that all the cookies have been made, I suppose I need to describe the “palace” to you. The nativity scene was a real attraction each year. Box in hand, walking shoes on, off to the woods we would go. Yes, even a walk in the woods was part of preparing for Christmas. We had to gather fresh moss for it to have just the right appearance. We would gather moss from the sides of trees or along a tiny stream to the right of the path, making sure we were careful not to get it dirty, preserving its natural green beauty. After the box was full, we’d take it back and begin construction of the nativity scene. Pap (my grandfather) had made a structure to display the sheep, wise men, palm trees and baby Jesus. When assembled it was an awesome sight. It actually put the true meaning into Christmas.
The nights of entertaining generally began in early December. A typical night started mid-afternoon. A quick trip to the side of the house and a few shovels later, we were ready to build the fire. We liked doing things the old-fashioned way, with coal and pine cones. The blaze soon warded off the chill as dinner was prepared in the kitchen. Dinner generally lasted until 6 p.m.; then the tablecloth was quickly changed from the everyday one to the entertaining one. Aprons were briskly taken off and Christmas sweaters were put on. The porch light was turned on and soon after came a “ding-dong.” It was the first car full of people that were to arrive that night. They would start with friendly conversation and wait until the others arrived. When everyone arrived, Liz would take her place on the piano bench and Pap would take his near the Christmas tree. We would sing carols, pray for the world and, of course, light the tree.
Yes, I said “light” the tree, not on fire, of course. We would light the candles on the tree. It looked so peaceful as the small candles flickered in the breeze as Pap walked around the tree. He would cautiously watch the fire, making sure to poke it at all the right times and maybe add a lump of coal to keep the room cozy.
From the living room, the guests would enter the kitchen. The table was unlike anything most people have ever seen before, unless they were at an all-you-can-eat dessert bar. Cookies, pies, fruitcakes, peanut butter balls, rum balls, Russian tea, haystacks, caramel turtles, fruitcake cookies and more filled the lazy-susan walnut table. The table would seat about seven or eight people; others flowed into the other sitting room. The Advent wreath rested on a serving cart in the corner. On the wall facing the kitchen was a felt Christmas tree cut-out that allowed all the Christmas cards to be displayed and shared.
The nights ended with hugs, thanks, praise and photos to remember yet another wonderful year at the “palace.” After the guests departed we would then put away the remaining cookies and wash the dishes. The fire was left to burn itself out and the door to the living room was closed. Christmas attire quickly changed to pajamas and Liz and I went home again.
This was sort of a mystery to those who didn’t know the makings of this wonderful tradition. I don’t think that a lot of people actually knew how the seasons were pieced together at the Weant-Cruse house; instead, they were just happy to be a part of it all.
I cherish each cookie that was made Christmas after Christmas until 1995. After 1995, my Christmases were never the same. Liz got too sick to make cookies or even put up the Christmas tree. For some reason, starting the holiday season in October and spending nearly every night with your grandmother really makes things special. I do remember all of the times spent during the holidays with my family. We’d always have a great lunch on Christmas day, complete with all the fixin’s. We would then congregate in the living room, where the fire was perfect once again, thanks to Pap. We would all open presents and sing. My favorite duet will always be Liz on violin and June, my older sister, on piano. We would all get a good laugh when they would mess up. After all this fellowship, we would then gather our things and go home, just through the pasture. I can remember thinking, another year, and all of this will happen again. I couldn’t wait!
After all, “over yonder” was my favorite place to be, not just at Christmas but all year long.
Amanda Cruse Stallings, the daughter of Alex and Jan Cruse, grew up in Salisbury and graduated from UNC-Charlotte. Amanda lives in Charlotte with her husband, Mark, and teaches fourth grade in Gaston County. She recently received her National Board Certification. She is a graduate student at Appalachian State University.
Amanda’s older sister, June (mentioned in this column) is an Air Force major who is a pilot at McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey.