Chapter 17
NOEL
The room Hopper and I had spent hours cleaning looked like a group of Christmas elves had thrown up all over it by the time I neared the end of the wreath-making workshop.
Leafy boughs, holly berries, silk flowers, little brass bells, strands of battery-powered fairy lights, three colors of ribbon, pine cones, and miniature ornaments covered the table.
Glue had left a sticky trail all around one of our crafters, too. Thankfully, I’d put a plastic tablecloth over the table my great-great-grandfather crafted by hand. I could just imagine him rolling in his grave as I ruined his work with Christmas crafting.
Iola Fletcher wrestled with a bow that wouldn’t cooperate with her, remaining stubbornly lopsided. Beside her, Lula Miller gleefully wrapped a strand of blinking Christmas lights around a wreath exploding with color.
“No, Lula! It’s too much,” Iola insisted, looking appalled. “You’re not supposed to put everything in the wreath. It’s a selection of items to choose from.”
Lula shrugged. “Well, I like it! What’s the point of Christmas decorations unless you’re going all out, right?”
Gertie, the seven-year-old who’d come in with her dad, giggled in agreement. But then she’d also gone all out on her wreath, adding so many fake poinsettias and carnations that it was nearly a solid flower wreath.
We’d supplied fresh greenery for the wreath base, along with a variety of decorations to add on to the project. Iola had chosen a ribbon and some holly—and Lula had taken a bit of everything else.
She’d included plastic snowflakes and cardinals, miniature drummer boys and angels, shiny Christmas bulbs, tiny brass bells, candy canes, and now the lights.
It was an explosion of several Christmas aesthetics combined into one loud wreath.
I laughed. “Lula, I like your spirit.”
She beamed at me. “Why, thank you, Noel.” She sniffed. “At least someone is not a stick in the mud.”
“I’ll show you a stick…” Iola muttered, the last of her sentence getting lost. The sentiment was not, though. She shook her head, exasperated.
The door opened, and Mom wheeled in a cart. “I’ve got a hot chocolate delivery for some elves. Am I in the right place?”
“Yes!” Gertie cried, clapping her hands. Her dad chuckled, eyes sparkling, as he watched his daughter.
We’d gotten a small group for the event, given that I’d organized it on short notice, but Gertie’s excitement made it worth the effort.
“Come choose your mug and your toppings,” Mom said with a big smile.
Gertie hopped up and ran over to point at the reindeer mug.
“Oh, good choice,” Mom said as she lifted the carafe and poured steaming hot chocolate into the mug. “This is hot, so I’m going to add a little milk to cool it, but be careful and sip, okay?”
Gertie nodded, listening to the cocoa-drinking instructions as if there’d be a test later. “I will!”
She reached out her hands, but Mom held the mug out of her reach. “Not so fast. We have to add toppings!”
Gertie’s eyes got huge. “Oh!”
“We’ve got marshmallows, whipped cream, cinnamon sprinkles—”
“Yes!” Gertie exclaimed.
Mom laughed. “All of them it is, then.”
She filled Gertie’s cup to the brim, the cinnamon and marshmallows disappearing under a mound of foamy whipped cream. She stuck a wafer cookie, rolled into a straw-like shape, into the cocoa as the final touch.
Gertie took the mug with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on a kid’s face. Forget about Santa. Forget about presents. This was obviously the best moment of her young life.
I sighed with nostalgia. Everything was so magical when you were seven.
While Iola and Lula got their hot chocolate, I took the opportunity to grab a broom and start sweeping up stray pine needles. They’d drifted across the table, all over the floor, and even managed to adhere to little Gertie’s cheek.
If we were really going to host a dinner party here in a few weeks, I didn’t want the mess to get away from me.
“Come sit down, Noel!” Mom called. “Enjoy some cocoa with your mother.”
I leaned the broom against the far wall and returned to my seat. It looked as if everyone was wrapping up. Gertie sipped her cocoa, leaving her dad—who’d passed on the sugary drink—to finish the wreath.
“More ribbon, Daddy!” she instructed as I retook my seat. “It’s not as pretty as Lula’s!”
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Lula countered. “That wreath is just perfect because you made it.”
Mom nudged me. “Remember that year you were in second grade and obsessed with Iron Man?” She snickered. “You insisted on using this Iron Man face as the center of the wreath and decorating everything in red and gold. Your dad busted a gut laughing when he saw it on the front door.”
Gertie looked over, eyes bright. “That sounds cool! I should have made a unicorn wreath with a big horn in the center, and it could have been blue and purple and pink because unicorns have lots of colors!”
“You should have,” I agreed with an official nod. “My Iron Man wreath was the best.”
Mom chuckled. “You sure loved it, and gosh, we had fun that year. You followed Santa all around, acting as his elf and giving out candy canes to the kids, remember?”
“Ah, yes, I was lucky to stay off the naughty list. I kept asking him questions about the North Pole until he was ready to pull out his hair.”
Iola chuckled. “Kids always make Christmas so magical.”
“They do, don’t they?” Mom mused. “I just can’t believe I didn’t keep up with these events better. I suppose it was never as much fun without you.”
Aw, cue the guilt trip.
Truth was, Christmas had never been as special for me, either, once I’d left. I’d just gotten caught up in escaping my small town for a big career and forgotten all the great things about my home.
I lifted my cup and sipped while Mom perfected my wreath with a bit of extra holly. She was an old pro after doing these events for so many years. I wasn’t bad either. There was an artistry to plating gourmet meals, after all. Presentation was almost as important as the flavors on the plate.
I’d woven fresh green boughs together with sparkly gold ribbon, holly, and pinecones. Mom fiddled with it, more for something to do than to make any big changes, until the workshop ended and it was time to clean up.
While we packed up supplies, she kept up a happy stream of chatter, still reminiscing about my childhood Christmases.
By the time I got inside and showered, it was nearly 9:00 p.m. I changed into some comfy sweats and a T-shirt and was just thinking about sneaking over to Hopper’s room when my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was the same as Kody’s in Christmas Falls. Maybe this was the festival planner he’d mentioned.
I’d nearly given up on the idea of Griff calling me.
I answered. “Hello?”
“Noel, Griff Calloway here. Kody asked me to give you a call. I hope it’s not too late. It’s crazy around here this time of year, and I’ve only just now found a few minutes to talk.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate you taking the time to call.”
“Sure,” Griff said. “Kody tells me you’re wanting some ideas for how to make your Christmas tree farm more of a holiday destination?”
“Well, something like that,” I said. “It’s been in my family a long time, but my parents have slowed down a lot. I just want to liven the place up.”
“Ah, I see,” Griff said. “Well, in Christmas Falls, we basically run on holiday extravaganza, so I can certainly give you a lot of ideas for festive events.”
“That would be awesome. I want to give my parents a great season. I’m starting to worry it might be their last.”
“Oh?”
“They’re nearing retirement age. The farm is a lot of work. I don’t want to think about selling, but I don’t know how much longer they can manage…”
“Ah, yes. That’s a shame,” he said. “One of my best friends runs a Christmas tree farm. I know how much work it can be.” He paused. “But at least you have this year with them. You can really make it special.”
“I’m trying, but the event I held tonight didn’t get much turnout. I doubt it makes any profit.”
“It goes that way sometimes,” Griff said. “Not every event is created equal. Some will have great profitability, and others will likely make nothing, but for us, they all work together to create Christmas magic. You’re really selling an experience. Selling traditions.”
“And memories,” I spoke up, thinking of how nostalgic Mom and I got tonight at the wreath-making event.
“Exactly,” he said. “If you want an active holiday season out there, you’ve got to offer people an experience they don’t want to pass up. Something they won’t easily get somewhere else.”
We talked for another fifteen minutes. Griff was patient as I picked his brain about marketing, timing, and anything else I could think to ask. I opened my email on my phone and typed notes while we talked, making a rough outline of a plan that might work this season.
“I’ll send you a list of our more popular events,” Griff said. “Maybe you’ll find something that helps. In the future, you might consider creating a mini festival to get more of a crowd all at once. But maybe that’s just the festival planner in me.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’re the expert. It’s certainly worth a try. I’ve already planned a couple of things this year, or I’d do it now.”
“It’s probably too late this year. Food for thought.”
If we combined events, customers wouldn’t come out only to make one craft, but possibly to visit Santa and take photos, drink hot chocolate, take a hayrack ride, and sing Christmas carols and make gingerbread houses all in one outing.
I couldn’t swing a whole festival, but maybe I could put his advice to use on a smaller scale.
Next year, we could plan a big weekend right after Thanksgiving to kick off the season.
Or, well, Mom and Dad and Hopper could. I couldn’t be here every year. And if they retired, well, they’d be able to pass on the idea.
My stomach tightened. I hated to think it, but what if these really were the last events we ever held?
Mom had seemed so happy tonight, reminiscing about the old days on the farm. Dad’s family heritage was tied up in this place. It wouldn’t be easy for either of them to give it up.
And with my life and career in Chicago—messy, but still everything I’d worked for all these years—I couldn’t stay. Not for good.
I’d just have to make this the best Christmas season in a long time. Like Griff said, we were creating Christmas magic. Creating an experience.
Creating memories that would last us forever.
I just hoped that would be enough.