I can still smell the smoke of Santa’s pipe as it floated through the air of our living room that crisp December evening in 1972.
I was covered by an afghan with a soft couch pillow under one cheek watching Frosty the Snowman when my father burst from his chair and said, “I see something strange going down the road.”
My sister and I jumped up to peer out the window and saw Santa riding in a sleigh behind a team of sled dogs swinging into our driveway.
The window in front of me was starting to fog over with my warm breath against it as I tried to understand what was happening right in front of my eyes.
My parents opened the front door while my sister and I ran over to get a better look at this implausible situation.
Santa had arrived, not only while we were awake, but many days earlier than we had expected.
I saw Santa’s driver pull the dogs to a stop and Santa himself climbed out of the sled with a red sack of goods.
Oh my, I thought. What a trip he must have had from the North Pole to Limekiln Lake. Were his reindeer sick?
Did the elves decide to get Christmas going early because he had dogs that could not fly?
My mind churned and my body was in shock with excitement as Santa himself strolled up to our door.
He burst out with a Ho, Ho, Ho. Then he was in my house… Santa himself was in my house! He pulled gifts out for my sister and brother and me that were wrapped in fine colored paper.
I stood with the gift in my hand as Santa explained to my parents that he still had a long journey ahead of him that evening.
His pipe smoke drifted into the air right there in my living room.
Upon his departure, the chill from the outside air hung for a moment.
I jockeyed from window to window, watching as the dogsled burst back out on the road and out of sight.
I unwrapped my gift and found a remote control police car with a tall whip antenna.
It wasn’t until many years later that I understood it was Santa’s helpers, Tom and JR, who made quite the journey from the Agway to all the children in town.
It was another magical memory of growing up Adirondack that I’m sure many wish they had.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com