Grandpa and the 10 Tobys (all of his dogs were named Toby) had been preparing for Christmas all year, just as they always did. Grandpa was a fan of Christmas and believed in fulfilling all the details to make it magical, and the Tobys were willing to do anything asked of them, except to stop barking at the wind, which was cold and harsh that year of 1966. Grandpa liked to make toys in his woodshop: puppets, dolls, trains, cars, spinning tops, wooden tic-tac-toe and other games, those sorts of items. That year he also made a music box for my mom and a new axe handle for my dad, and everyone, including the dogs, always received a hand-carved Christmas ornament. Our respective Christmas trees were overburdened with handmade ornaments, but that didn't deter his activities.

At 10 years old, I was the eldest of his six grandchildren, and I was staying with Grandpa for a couple of days before Christmas to help him prepare for the holiday. On the day before Christmas Eve, the first flakes of snow began falling. We didn't yet understand the magnitude of the storm that would dominate upstate New York with three feet of snow and ice, knock out all the power in our village, and cover the roadways with the slickest ice any of us could remember.

We didn't yet understand the magnitude of the storm that would dominate upstate New York

As the wind howled and the snow fell, Grandpa and the Tobys and I cut down a fir tree in the woods and brought it back on the dogsled that he used for hauling firewood. "Looks like we found this tree just in time," said Grandpa, shouting over the wind and sleet. "There's a wicked storm brewing for sure. I hope it doesn't interfere with the Christmas festivities." We were all meeting the next day, Christmas Eve, at my house, so the weather was a consideration.

We set up and trimmed the tree and wrapped the dozens of gifts that Grandpa had accumulated (except for mine, which were already wrapped, dang it), and it took four big feed sacks to hold them. It was an impressive pile of loot. Grandpa always overdid the gifts, which was rapturously appreciated by us kids, but our parents thought it excessive. He was inevitably lectured on the dangers of spoiling children and always nodded and smiled and agreed, but without any intent to change.

Christmas Eve was bleakly overcast with screeching wind, horizontal sleet, and freezing rain. I stood on the porch and extended my arm into the weather. A minute later, I pulled back a sheath of ice in place of an appendage. "Huh," said Grandpa. He leaned over and solidly tapped out his pipe on my frozen arm, cracking the ice, which spilled away with the ashes.

"This looks bad," said Grandpa, refilling his pipe with Carter Hall while the dogs milled about and plopped onto the ice-laden porch floorboards. "The roads are going to be impassable tonight. Maybe we should get an early start." My family's farm was about 10 miles away, and we were supposed to be there tonight. Cars had stopped attempting the roads, and from the ditches protruded those that had previously tried, now transformed into slabs of glacier. The world seemed empty, but not silent. The wind whipped the trees and moaned through their glistening branches in bass, tenor, and soprano lamentation.

We loaded Grandpa's truck with all the gifts and dogs in the back and fishtailed out of the driveway into the road, where we immediately spun on the ice and crashed into a ditch. The road, the trees, the mailboxes, everything was glistening with a coating of transparent ice.

... we immediately spun on the ice and crashed into a ditch

We tried to extricate the pickup truck with chains and shovels and Grandpa's tractor, but whenever we got it onto the road, gravity and the dearth of road friction slid it inexorably back into the ditch. As the afternoon light began to dim, we gave up.

The power had failed while we were outside, but the house stayed warm from the wood stove, which we needed to melt the ice from our clothes. "The ice is probably pulling down power lines," said Grandpa.

I was horrified; these circumstances were beyond unfair. We were going to miss Christmas with the family, something I'd never experienced. We couldn't possibly get to my house now.

Grandpa could see that I was upset. "We'll get there," he said, "and it will be tonight. We don't miss Christmas in this family."

We don't miss Christmas in this family

"But we can't get the truck on the road," I said. "My dad can't come for us in these conditions. Nobody can. We're stuck." Then the avarice of my little 10-year-old heart perked up. "Y'know, we always open a gift on Christmas Eve. If we're here, could I still do that tonight?"

Grandpa laughed. "You'll have your Christmas Eve present tonight at your house, just like always," he said. He pulled on his winter gear and called the dogs, who clamored around him in trembling ecstasy at the prospect of going outside in the sleet again. "We'll be right back," he said, and the dogs paraded through the door, tails thumping on the door frame as they jostled onto the porch and followed Grandpa to the barn.

A half-hour later, as it was getting dark, they were outside the front porch. The dogs were harnessed to their dogsled and excited to be going somewhere, some of them vocalizing their opinion of the unacceptable delay. Grandpa had filled the sled with the ice-encrusted sacks of gifts from the pickup. "Dress warm," he said. "The sleet has almost stopped, but it'll be an icy trip."

I bundled up, and inspected the sled. "No lights?"

"Lights? On a dogsled? Are you daft? You could read at midnight with all the reflecting whiteness everywhere. We don't need lights."

"Lights? On a dogsled?"

"Is it safe?"

"Aren't you the boy who falls through the ice on the pond twice a year and almost drowns? Don't I remember you climbing to the top of the barn to test your bedsheet as a parachute, scaring the bejesus out of your mother? And you want safety lights?"

"Some older kids have been talking about the movies in their Driver's Education class. Cars should see us."

Grandpa laughed. "Don't worry. We're the only ones dumb enough to be on the road tonight."

"But if there are other dumb people, they're probably dumb enough to run into us."

"Tell you what: I've got some old sleigh bells in the barn. We'll put them on the dogsled, and any traffic will hear us coming for a mile. And we'll keep three Tobys unharnessed so they can scout ahead."

I judged it a good compromise. We attached the bells, and they were indeed loud. The Tobys loved them. Dogs are happiest when accomplishing something, and pulling the sled was almost as good as chasing rabbits or cornering skunks. I sat in the sled, invisible and well-insulated under the sacks of gifts. Grandpa made one last trip into the house to be sure he had remembered everything and came back with his large tub of Carter Hall. "That was almost a disaster," he said. "Can't have Christmas without Carter Hall." He fired up his pipe, stood at the back to guide the dogs, and pulled on his Santa cap. "To make an impression when we arrive," he said. We embarked on our quest with a lurch as the Tobys pulled the sled's runners from the ice that had already started freezing them to the ground.

He fired up his pipe, stood at the back to guide the dogs, and pulled on his Santa cap

Aside from the cold and wind and tapering sleet, it was a beautiful ride. The sun was setting on the horizon, peeking from under a blanket of black clouds and projecting beams of reds and violets and yellows across the world to be refracted by the ice encrusting every surface. It was as if the trees were festooned with glimmering lighted gems, becoming natural Christmas trees, and the fading light was magnified by its own reflections and refractions and multiplied by the crystalline cocoon enveloping the entire outdoors.

The dogs did great, but it was a struggle to keep the sled on the road, and it was getting late. The roads were entirely deserted, as if humanity had disappeared from the Earth. My family's farm was on the other side of the village, and we rode down the middle of Main Street on the way. With the power out, no Christmas lights glowed, and only a few windows hinted at the dim light of candles. The village was empty until a small figure ran into the road ahead of us. The scout dogs circled, and the dogsled came to a halt as the other dogs investigated this newcomer.

The village was deserted

It was a little girl of about four or five in her pajamas, and her eyes were wide and excited. She could barely speak. "Santa!" she cried. "Santa!"

Grandpa knelt next to her. "Hey, you should be asleep. What are you doing out here in the cold?" He wrapped his coat around her.

"I heard the sleigh bells. I have to talk to you."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not —'

"I didn't want you to miss our house, Santa." I popped out of the sled and joined them in the road. "Oh, good," said the girl. "You brought an elf to help. He looks weird." She looked around her. "So do the reindeer, but they're very nice." The dogs were rubbing up against her like house cats and nudging her for attention.

The dogs were rubbing up against her like house cats and nudging her for attention

Grandpa looked at me and shrugged. "What can we do for you, young lady?"

"Mom and Dad say we can't have Christmas this year. They say we'll make up for it later. But Christmas is Christmas."

Grandpa looked at the house we were in front of. "Is this Ron Garvey's house? Are you his daughter?"

She beamed. "You know everything, Santa."

"I understand the mill laid him off. Is he working again?"

The girl's face fell. "He keeps looking. He's very sad. That's why I had to catch you. Please don't forget us."

Grandpa puffed on his pipe and stood thinking for a moment. "Okay," he said at last and put his pipe in his shirt pocket. "You two come with me." He grabbed two of the sacks from the sled, and we went into the house.

It was dark and silent, and the Christmas tree had no packages under it. "Let's keep very quiet," said Grandpa. "Everyone asleep already?"

"We all went to bed to stay warm," said the girl. "There's no heat until the power comes back."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it will be fixed by morning," whispered Grandpa. "Let's get these presents under the tree."

We emptied the sacks and populated the tree's undercarriage with a splendor of gifts. The girl's sense of wonder was expanding, and we weren't sure she'd contain herself. Every time we placed another gift, she squealed happily, and after Grandpa urged her to remain quiet, she would squeal and quickly slap her own hand over her mouth.

"I think that's everything," said Grandpa.

But the little girl seemed troubled. "Is there something for my dad? He'd really like some pipe tobacco. He's been out for a while. My mom wanted to buy him some but couldn't."

"My dad has been out of pipe tobacco for a while"

Grandpa went out to the dogsled, grabbed his tub of Carter Hall, and placed it under the tree. The girl was delighted. "Go on to bed now," said Grandpa. "It'll be Christmas when you wake."

We re-boarded the dogsled and journeyed on, arriving at my house much later than usual but intact and fairly unfrozen, on the inside, at least. Before we went in, Grandpa nudged me and said, "Let's keep that whole episode with the Garvey girl a secret. That's for you and me. It's ours." We still had a hard layer of ice to remove from our hats and coats and from Grandpa's beard, but we were in exceptionally good spirits. Our family Christmas Eve celebrations carried on as usual, though a little later, and we woke the next morning to a spectacular Christmas of toys, food, and family.

Grandpa received compliments from my parents about how nicely he had refrained from over-spoiling the children, and he smiled. It was the only Christmas morning I remember when he didn't smoke his pipe, and it was strange. He always smoked his pipe. Then I remembered that he didn't have any tobacco, but I wasn't worried because I knew a tub of his favorite was waiting for him under the tree.

It was the only Christmas morning I remember when he didn't smoke his pipe

News spread around the village that a Christmas miracle had occurred and the real Santa had visited the Garveys. The regional news station even interviewed the family, and Mr. Garvey was offered several jobs to choose from, but the mystery remained unsolved. For years afterward, the children in our village listened carefully for sleigh bells every Christmas Eve. Christmas sometimes appears unexpectedly, and it's best to stay vigilant.