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
