Good Yule

Look to the Light

At 4:21 this morning, December 21, 2014 the Northern Hemisphere of Planet Earth reached its maximum tilt away from its star. Things will only get better from here. The light is coming back.

In spring the trillium carpet the mountain floor.

Wild iris cling to the rocky slopes.

In 1953 the winter solstice occurred December 22 at 3:31 am. After a restless night my mother had a feeling that it was a special day. Her due date was early January but Daddy calculated their taxes. “Mavis, we really need for that baby to be born in’53 or were going to have to pay.”

They started doing everything they could to bring on the birth. “Beer might help.” Mama heard that having a few beers not only built up pressure but it also relaxed things enough to start the process.

Daddy went out the evening of the twenty-first and cranked the Pontiac. “Let’s ride out to the bootleggers.” On the way they rode over every set of railroad tracks they could. Vibration was rumored to help. At the bootleggers they bought a half-dozen cans of beer. Daddy brought a church key. They kept riding and drinking beer. Daddy found the bumpiest roads possible in rural Attala County, Mississippi. “Baby’s got to come.”

Mama was miserable. She had two children and her parents-in-law living in the house. She was larger than she had been with the other two. “This has got to be a boy.” She was ready for things to move along.

Daddy was up early on the morning of the twenty-second. He made his usual trek down the hallway to light the radiator. Heat was not allowed in the house at night, no matter how cold. It was Christmas season at the store. W. C. Leonard and Company. Dry goods. The owner of the store lived across the street and was a hard task-master.

Giving birth was women’s work. Men had to go to their job. Men weren’t involved in the birthing process at all. Daddy put on his coat and tie. Grabbed his hat and headed uptown to the store.

Back then the world was held together by women. Not white women like Mama. The maids. Women of African descent. These women took care of everything that needed to be done. Cooking, cleaning, laundry and especially taking care of children. They were the glue that bound the south.

Mama’s maid was named Ella. She was large. Not so much fat as just big. She stood a towering six feet tall. “Miz Mavis,” Ella put her hands on her hips. “We need to get you to the hospital.” Montfort Jones Memorial Hospital was at the end of the block. “I’ll get your coat.” Ella motioned to Bell Street. “Let’s get walking. It’ll bring that baby on.”

The screen door slammed behind the two women as they inched down the plank stairs out to the street. “Oh, Ella, I hurt.” Mama could barely get one foot in front of the other.”

The former Montfort Jones Memorial Hospital. December, 2023. The “Old Hospital” was abandoned during the sixties in favor of a modern structure out on the “four-lane.”

“C’mon Miz Mavis. I got you.” Ella steadied her. They walked down the middle of the street.

“Ella, we’re going to get hit out here in the middle of the street.” Mama always worried about doing right.

Ella held her close. “They can go around.” Ella tightened her grip. “Or just stop and wait.” Ella let out a chuckle. “We got important things to attend.”

Dr. Robert Ray met Mama and Ella at the hospital. “Why the Hell did you walk?” Dr. Robert was known for salty language. He was short and stout. Had a cajun wife named Denise. Daddy had taken care of Dr. Robert during the war. Kept him out of trouble when he went on his famous benders. As long as Dr. Robert was alive we never paid a penny for medical care.

“James had to go to work.” Mama groaned. “You know Will Leonard as well as I do.”

Dr. Robert chewed on his cigar. “Son-bitch.” Pointed to the exam table. “Ella, get her up here and let’s look-see what’s happening.” He laid his cigar on a porcelain tray. Put Mama’s feet up into the stirrups. Hands under the sheet he started the exam. After a few minutes he looked at Ella. “Get her prepped, Ella. You know what do do.”

Ella got a steel bowl full of hot water and a wash cloth. Started wringing it and wiping Mama. Head to toe. The moans started getting worse. “Roll to your side Miz Mavis.”

Ella’s hands were the size of boat paddles. Dark brown on the back and baby pink in the palms. She oiled her hands with mineral oil and started rubbing Mama’s back. “Oh Ella, that feels good. Please don’t stop.” Ella kept one hand rubbing and used the other wring out the rag to wash Mama’s face. After an hour or so Dr. Robert came in with scrubs on. Gown and cap.

“OK, Mavis.” An orderly and nurse helped Ella get mama on to a gurney. “Let’s see what you got in there.” Ella stayed in the room while they rolled Mama into the delivery room.

Luckily Daddy’s lunch hour was 11:00 to 12:00. I was born mid-morning. Dr. Robert called the store. “Tell James to get his ass to the hospital. He’s got a boy.”

Lawyer, Jim Crawley’s office was across from the back door of the store. He was rich and drove a Packard. Daddy hopped into the Pontiac. Crawley was parked behind him. The Pontiac went into reverse instead of drive and daddy pressed the accelerator to the floor. Bam. He rammed the Packard.

He left the car running as he ran into Crawley’s office. To the receptionist. “Tell Mr. Jim I hit his car. Mavis just had a baby and I’m headed to the hospital.”

Jim stuck his head out of his door. “Go, James.” Pointed to the door. “We’ll fix it later.”

Daddy ran back to the car. Hit Mr. Jim’s car again but took off toward Montfort Jones.

Visiting the place of my birth on my seventieth birthday. December 22, 2023.

The rest is history. I’m here. It’s been an interesting journey these last seventy-one years. Many a solstice has happened. The axis has wobbled back and forth. We’ve done a lot of spinning.

Ella didn’t work for us much. She was more of a birth-maid than a cook or cleaner. When I was brought home I was handed over to Rachel, the nurse. The women had their specialties. They were good at what they did.

Ella helped many women, black and white, give birth. She would come by every now and again to check on the children she helped bring into the world. I loved talking to her when she came by. She told me tales about her grandfather. “Daddy was old when I was born. And his daddy was old.” She looked down from her vast height. “His daddy, my grandaddy was born a slave.”

I knew a bit about the war. Few called it a Civil War. More often it was referred to as the Skirmish with the North. Or the War of Northern Aggression. More often, The War between the States. We were taught to be angry the we lost and the Yankee’s won.

“My grandaddy was owned by a planter over near Starkville.” She told me. “He was a young boy when freedom came but he remembered the old way.” Ella tilted her head. “His master, the plantation owner, had him and the other house servants children in the main house. Field hands lived in shacks toward the fields.” She moved her arms in a broad circle. “When the war started, the master made grandaddy sleep at the front door. That way he would yell if the Yankees came in during the night.” Ella folded her arms across her stomach. “He told me that. He remembered.” Then she sighed. “Long time ago.”

We were both quiet after that.

Things change. the earth spins and wobbles back and forth. Ideas come and go. People come and go. Ella has been dead more than fifty years. Mama died last year the day after Christmas, 2023. Last Solstice I was with her. “Do you remember what you were doing seventy years ago today?” She was in pain. Confused. Working through the act of dying. I’m sure she wished Ella were there to oil-rub her back. She blinked and nodded. I think she understood what I was asking.

I’ve always thought that being born on the Solstice was somehow special. Maybe somehow I can help bring back the light. Hubris? Who knows. But I do think it matters.

Flour mesmerized by the light of the fire.

Yuletide is a celebration of the return of the sun. A time to acknowledge rebirth, renewal and the continuation of life. Maybe, for us in 2024, it’s time to put our old ways to the side. Set free our inner slaves. Look at the world with a new sense of wonder. Eyes full of hope and awe.

We know the light will return. It always does. The Earth turns. It wobbles and tilts. Things are bad then they are good then bad again. We must go through the dark so we can see the light. Flowers of summer must fade. Maybe times were better when our holidays were based on reality instead of mythology. When we looked to the sun, the moon and the stars. Maybe they are better now than they ever have been. Maybe they are worse. We do know that the light will return and we will tilt all the way into it. Till that day in June when we start tilting away. Then we will do it over again. And again. And again.

Hug those near to you. Gather the babies by the fire. Show them that as dark as it gets the light will return. We can hope. We can know.