The week before Christmas has always been special in St. Helena. No matter what age one is, come the week before Christmas he shifts immediately into “vacation mode.” No matter your age, School is out. The pressure is off. Finals are over.

Much of this has to do with the culture of grapes, of course. By this time of the year the harvest is long over. Pruning is still a few weeks off. The vines are dormant. The fields too muddy to disc. Frosts can’t hurt us and rain is welcomed.

This is a time many of the men in the wine business historically light out for the snow capped Rockies, elk tags in tow. They ride horses up into the high country only return sometime in early December with an occasional true tail. In sub zero temperatures, wine may not be the only beverage of choice. The harvest has taken its toll and the rest and relaxation in the frozen wilderness, well deserved.

Back home, holly berries, persimmons, magnolia leaves, pine bows and garlands are strewn about the house giving each home that Christmassy smell and once a year look. Some go so far as to do the “light thing,” increasing their carbon foot print to the detriment of mother earth, but the delight of us all.

Inside, candles are lit. Trees go up, and many have marched Main St., braved the malls, even taken the ferry to the City to get those presents wrapped and ready for Santa to bring down the Chimney.

Unlike days of old, UPS now does a bang up business as the Internet has come here to “the sticks”. Between Amazon.com, Craig’s List, and Overstock.com does a day pass when “Brown” is not seen on one’s block?

Turkey’s are readied, hams are cooked and egg nog is mixed as nightly parties celebrate the season. Everyone is exhausted.

The flu attacks and not a party takes place that the voice mail isn’t clogged with nasal toned would be partiers begging off due to an invasion of the creeping crude.

Wine bottles seemed to be exchanged nightly, as folks cross one another’s thresholds colorful bottles in hand—carried in brightly colored bags.

Does every winery have a Christmas party? With over 300 up here now, you might get the measure of what the season entails.

Once, of course, it wasn’t about candle lit dinners in caves or sumptuous feasts washed down with award winning wines.

It was a time when the gyms were closed, but the coaches and principles turned a blind eye to the kids who stuck a pencil in the back door and snuck in and played basketball in the darkened gyms.

There was something devilish, yet heroic about it. You knew you weren’t supposed to be there. There was fear of getting caught—although, what was Pep going to do do? Shoot you? Or invite you to go duck hunting with him?

The light was bad as the rain was usually relentless. It was cold. Turning on heat or lights would have been a definite no, no.

We would go at it, convincing ourselves that the coaches would approve of our dedication, though we knew they wouldn’t approve of our larcenous approach.

When we weren’t sneaking in to play basketball, we usually worked. The lucky kids at jobs at Mel's, Goodman's, or one of the gas stations. One could make some good money to buy presents during that week before Christmas.

As a sophomore, I landed the world’s best December Christmas job. It was at Coulthard’s Christmas Tree Farm over on the Trail. In those days, folks would come up from the Bay Area, as a family, park their car, and then go through the lot with a little limb saw in tow, searching for just the right tree. (Back then, I could wax poetic on the differences-- pros and cons between a Scotch pine, Doug fir, and Montery Pine. Today they all look alike).

I was there to help if they had any trouble or weren’t up to the task (How difficult could it be to cut a Christmas tree? However, lots of folks preferred someone else to it—which was good, because that meant at least a dollar tip).

After sawing it, (always leaving one branch on the stump, so it would grow back next year) I would carry it to the car and help them tie it on the roof with sturdy twine. Folks would come up in October and November, tag their tree, then come up in December to cut it town.

I’ll never forget the time a family (right out of Leave it To Beaver—mom and pop, brother and sister), had come up in October, tagged a tree, returned in December only to find that their tree had been cut and stolen. The kids were in tears.

I never knew who did it, but I’ve always tried to imagine that father who stole someone else’s Christmas tree to give to his own family. What a great way to start the season of giving.

On Main St. the lamp posts were decorated like candy canes (some years the bulbs were red, green and blue), and of course Santa paraded down Main St. in the fire engine and threw candy to all the kids.

On Christmas Eve, many of the stores had little parties in the back, serving toddies or wine (Keller’s did a full on feast) and neighbors greeted one another as they did that last minute shopping.

Santa and Rudolf would come later that night, but to a kid, the week leading up was always one of the best.


















Jeffrey Earl Warren
James Warren & Son
1414 Main St.
St. Helena, Ca.
94574
707-963-2748