About The Madison County journal. (Hull, Ga.) 1989-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 25, 2024)
PAGE 4A-THE MADISON COUNTY (GA) JOURNAL. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 25. 2024 Opinions “Private opinion is weak, but public opinion is almost omnipotent. Hen ry Wa rd Beeche r The first gift of Christmas was a child There are dozens of smiling faces in the community this week, faces which mute the cynics and renew the faith less. Each Christmas, children take on a special glow, a sense of wild-eyed wonder and anticipation. It is a time they will long remember, a touchstone for the rest of their lives. And for the adults, it’s more than just the rush and madness; it’s also a time of wonder, a time we will also recall in the future. Where but in the eyes of a child can you see both the past — little Tommy has granddad’s eyes, sister Suzie has her mother’s hair — and the future — Blake wants to be a fireman, Jane a doctor. Tomorrow is a memory of today by the children, youngsters whose inno cence is our joy, whose faces light up our homes and whose wonder keeps tradition alive. Many cultures believe that it is the old who keep traditions, who pass down the wisdom of years and the touchstones of life. But it is the young who are the torchbearers. Without a new generation to teach, traditions mean very little. It is that faith in the future and our collective desire to pass the cultural torch that makes Christmas a special season. It is a season of faith, not only of religion, but also in our humanity. Even with the kitsch and commer cialism being blared around us, the fundamental desire for “peace on mike buffington earth, good will to men” rings through. Our social conventions may some times be shallow, but somehow gen eration after generation will touch the core of the Christmas spirit and be re newed. For some, it is a season of mixed emotions. Amid all the gaiety, there are the memories of friends and family who are gone. The mu sic, the smell of a Christmas tree and the annual nesting of fam ilies bring back the bittersweet thoughts. For others, it will be the last Christ mas together. There are those who face the inevitable end and even having lived a good and long life is little con solation to the families who will miss them. But in the faces of their offspring, of the great-grandchildren who laugh and play around them, is the faith that pulls life forward. Without the laughter of children, there would be an emptiness in their wake. And so, the torch is passed and the traditions continue, someday to be in the hands of those who now play around the Christmas tree and peek up the chimney. The past and the future come togeth er at Christmas — the memories of our own childhoods mixed with the new memories now being formed by our own children. They will someday look back at this special time and smile just as we do at our own childhood mem ories. And someday our children’s children will tug at the Christmas tree orna ments and be amazed by the shimmer ing Christmas lights along city streets. They will sing in church plays and perform in school concerts. They will sit on Santa’s knee and promise to be good so they can get that new bike. They will look at the nativity set and rearrange the pieces, always making a special place for the Baby Jesus. They will want to watch the tape of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer until they know every line by heart. They will ask 1,000 questions about the sleigh and reindeer. They will leave milk and cookies be cause Santa’s sure to be hungry. They will check the stockings every day, just in case. They will eat too much candy and be happy about it. They will hope. They will dream. And they, too, will someday know that the first gift of Christmas was a child. Mike Buffington is co-publisher of Mainstreet Newspapers. This is his annual Christmas column. Shooting stars All my life I have been watching the night sky. You knew that if you read my recent column, which was about sat ellites. There is always a lot to see up there if you know what to look for. Among the phenomena that are most im pressive to me are the meteor showers that occur period ically. I wonder how many people still don’t know what these things are. After all, when I was very little, the only thing I ever heard them referred to, by the old folks, was a ‘’shooting star.” Obviously, that is not what they are. Our sun is a small star and is about one hundred times bigger than the earth; so, we are not talking about actual shooting stars here. Basically, the bodies that are flying around our solar system, other than the plan ets, are planetoids, asteroids, comets, meteors, meteor oids, and meteorites. Plane toids, like Pluto (once con sidered a planet), are pretty big, as are comets. We hope neither of these two never enter our atmosphere and fall to earth. The other lour are the shooting stars in var ious forms. Asteroids are rocks that orbit the sun in the inner so lar system. Most of them are between Mars and Jupiter in what is known as the asteroid belt. A meteor is an asteroid that enters the earth’s atmosphere. A meteoroid is just a little bitty asteroid that almost always burns up in the at mosphere. A meteorite is a piece of a meteor that makes it to the earth without burning up completely. A famous asteroid hit the earth about sixty-five million years ago and created an extinction event so drastic that it killed about seventy-five percent of all species on the plan et. It was about six miles across, traveling at thousands of Hello, neighbors. As I put pen to paper, so to speak, the Shortest Day, the Longest Night—winter solstice—occurred only yesterday. It is likely a background event for most of us, hardly noticeable beyond our general awareness of darkness setting in before suppertime this time of year. However, it marks the first day of winter on our calendars, and it always leaves me thinking about the precious winter light we receive. The cold makes finding mindful moments from Mother Na ture more difficult during the more sterile and barren season. Standing outside in 20-, 30-, or even 40-degree weather, I have to work at reminding myself to let a deep breath of chilled air be enough for thankfulness. Often, the rush of cold that fills my lungs is little consolation when weighed against the sting of numbed fingers and toes. Winter winds always feel bitter, too: I am quite certain that I never used the phrase, “a nice winter breeze” in my entire life. However, where some elements of winter hurt and bring constant challenge, others shine, albeit with shortened hours compared to the warmer months. To my eyes, a winter sunrise appears as quickly as a winter sunset disappears—a scant few minutes at most. In June, the events have a way of spreading themselves out, coating the landscape in their gently rising and falling warmth. December sun-up is like a shot fired from a cannon, a quick, sharp burst, then done. Moments ago it was dark, now it is light. Such a quality tunes my eyes towards mindful viewing, aware that the scene’s flaring colors grow plainer and more dimmed by the second. Sunsets are much the same this time of year. They happen during afternoon rather than evening hours. Hours...minutes, really. I am usually driving to my house from soccer practice during wintertime, so I make efforts to take note of the sky’s low-hung fiery rim spied behind and through the empty trees. Times are I will even drive an extra two or three miles west- miles per hour and made a crater about one hundred miles across. We don’t want another one of those. The biggest meteorite ever found weighs about 120 thou sand pounds and is so large that it has never been moved from where it was discovered. It is about as big as a small house. These objects are all over the world with most of them yet undiscovered. They are extremely dense and ex tremely heavy and are mostly made up of iron and other heavy metals. After all, most of the mass of these meteor ites binned away before they hit the earth. Barringer Crater, in the western United States, was formed a few million years ago when a meteor about 125 feet across hit the earth. It is on the floor of a desert in Ari zona and about a mile wide. The explosion that formed this crater excavated 175 million tons of rock, leaving this huge hole in the ground. There are twenty-seven other major im pact craters that have been discovered in the United States. Canada has even more. Are you wondering if anything like this will ever happen again? That is actually the wrong question. The right ques tion is: “When will an event like this happen again?” It is not a matter of “if’ but “when” another large meteor will hit the surface of the earth or one of our oceans. In 1908 and 2013 two large meteors exploded in the sky over Russia. The one in 1908 did a lot of damage, killing reindeer and leveling millions of trees over nine-hundred or so square miles. They exploded in the atmosphere and did not hit the earth like the Barringer meteor did. The biggest crater is in South Africa. It is about two hun dred miles across. About one-third of the gold in the world has been mined out of this crater. That gold did not arrive from outer space on the meteor that formed this crater. It was unearthed by the blast of the explosion that formed the crater. Now with all that said, I hope these things interest you as much as they do me. If not, I hope that a few facts may pique your interest and get you to go to the infamous Goo gle and look up a bit of information on craters and meteors. I don’t think you will be sorry if you do. ward to have five more minutes with the fading spectacle be fore hints of dullen purple begin to squash any lingering glow. Recently, we had a fair ly rare flash of light streak through our area—a winter thunderstorm. How we go from frost-coated mornings a few days earlier to mid-sum mer evening rain and light ning is beyond the scope of this column. I am here to be mindful of and thank ful for events and settings and people, not to explain things. Standing comfort ably in my backyard wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, my eyes (and ears) took in the electric-white light show, hidden within the low and heavy clouds, listening for the inevitable rumbles and grumbles more common during the summer season. And, though the wind was a December one, maybe this time it actually was a nice winter breeze hitting my skin. As you walk under leafless branches or across browned grass, stop a moment to think of the light falling on your shoulders. In spite of the cold, it still warms you. From sunris es to sunsets to wildly out-of-place thunderstorms, winter light offers plenty of moments for mindfulness. My hope is that you stay warm. Thank you for making my life better. Old Man Winter. Mindfully yours, Travis. Christmas 2024 By Ronda Rich It’s the Christmases of my childhood that I remember always and cherish most. They were simple and humble with no fancy frills or garland. In the windows of the stores downtown, I often stood, longingly, dreaming of a Christmas tree with expensive decorations and huge bows made of red velvet ribbon. And the angel on top? She was my heart’s desire rather than the ancient star that topped our tree. It helped none that trees were even more beautiful In the Christmas television specials in vivid color. Bob Hope. Andy Williams. Dean Martin. Bing Crosby. Oh, my. I wished we had a fireplace on which to string green ery and hang a stunning wreath. I didn’t realize it then but the truth is my parents did the best they could. Since I was born to them late in life, they were pretty much out of the holly jolly business from my siblings — yet they gave it their best try with the meager money left over after the monthly bills. Daddy tramped into the woods, chopped down a pine tree, and dragged it home tied behind that blue Ford tractor. He loved that tractor, the brainstorm of Henry Ford, a farmer, who recognized the need for such a piece of machinery so he developed one. Had someone come along and offered Daddy a good deal for the tractor or me, I’d’ve been the one long gone. Later, someone gave us a used artificial tree. I danced happily until I realized that, though the limbs were per fect, not lopsided like farm trees and much easier to disassemble (cleaning up the pine needles was torture), there was no delicious scent of pine. Mama pulled magnolia leaves from a tree in the front yard and, sometimes, if the weather had not been too harsh, tucked back among the limbs, she found a beauti ful blossom. She broke off more pine limbs, then deco rated the top of the piano with green holly and red berries from the bush next to the front porch. It was all home made but quite pretty, I must admit. When I was about nine years old, I sidled up to Daddy, sitting at the kitchen table, finishing off his morning cof fee, and put my arm around his neck. I said, “Daddy, I need some mistletoe.” He tried not to smile. “You do, do you? Well, how do you figure we get it?” Mama had recently explained to me about the birds and the holly berries. “They eat the berries,” Mama said, “Then, whenever they land on a limb and leave droppins, they leave the seed behind.” After that, I began to notice large bunches of mistle toe, hanging in abundance at the top of tall oak trees. The only problem was how to get 15 or 20 feet up to the mistletoe. I frowned, “I don’t know but I’m sure you can figure it out. I’m going to tie it with ribbon and hang it over the doors.” Daddy smiled, standing up from the table. “Hang on, little ‘un, let me get my boots and jacket. Go get yours, too” A few minutes later, I met him at the back door with his shotgun. I looked quizzical. “What’cha doin’ with that?” He winked. “You’re about to find out how to get mis tletoe from a treetop.” Daddy and I climbed over the pasture fence then, stop ping at the creek, he directed, “You stay here.” He waded the water and climbed the embankment. About 50 yards later, he stopped, lifted the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed high toward a large bunch of mistletoe in a tree. With one shot, he hit the mistletoe and sent it tumbling, downward. Another bunch took two shots to sever it completely from the limb. To the house, I returned with an armload of beautiful mistletoe. These days, I have those beautiful trees of which I once dreamed. But I’d rather have Mama and Daddy than that mistletoe. Ronda Rich is the best selling author of the Stella Bankwell mysteiy/histoiy series. The Madison County Journal Danielsville, Madison County Georgia 30633 Merged with The Danielsville Monitor and The Comer News, January 2006 A publication of MainStreet Newspapers Inc. MIKE BUFFINGTON, Co-publisher SCOTT BUFFINGTON Co-publisher CALEB ROLLINS Editor Subscriptions: $45/year —$40/seniors POSTMASTER: Send address changes to: THE MADISON COUNTY JOURNAL PO Box 908 Jefferson, Ga. 30549 The Official Legal Organ of Madison County, Georgia-Periodicals postage paid at Danielsville, Georgia 30633 (USPS 011-097; ISSN 1074987X) By Charlie Snelling Winter light
