whitefish

i remember watching low budget christmas movies at my nana's. the story line was always similar, a christmas eve community play where something monumental happens: a change-of-heart epiphany, a homeless women singing silent night in the background, and of course there was a child struggling with the ethical (bigger picture) responsibility of releasing his beloved domesticated elk that, because of a reindeer shortage, santa commissions to deliver magic to the entire world. what i remember about these movies most was this nameless town in which it was always set, somewhere way up north, closer to my child's concept of the north pole than any place i had ever been. there was always so much snow, tall walls of it, large sledding hills of it. sparkly flakes were something i had only seen in my own christmas school plays, a gaudy fluffiness of glitter sprayed onto cotton. our southern snow never resembled anything like this, like piles of diamonds. i remember in these movies, the vintage charm of this small town, garland and bells strung across main street, street lamps in blizzards, the town's tavern welcoming and warming all. i found this place, a physical culmination of my christmas nostalgia! i knew it the first time i saw it, i knew it on christmas this year when we found ourselves on our own, huddled around a fire in a mountain lodge covered in snow, the good stuff, the once make-believed kind, sparkly and fluffy. we took our time to eat delicious food and warm our bodies slowly, so thankful for our families who despite the distance, were so sentimentally close this year.