About Us

It was a tough winter and holiday that season. I was a ten year old and struggling with all the grade school debates and controversies of the time. You remember some of them too, I’m sure: Who would win in a fight, Superman or Spiderman? Which is better, supply side economics vs. fiat money system? Who should start at QB for the Steelers (Terry Bradshaw was still young) and the most vicious and debated contention of all was, “Is there a Santa Claus?” It was only a few days before Christmas and I couldn’t take the pressure. I pleaded with my Dad to “tell me the truth” and all he’d give me was some rubbish that for those that remained faithful; all of the Saints, including Saint Nick, were absolutely real. I was contemplating these important questions and lack of answers as I walked deep into the woods one very cold, winter day, hunting…kind of. I was too young to carry a rifle that could actually hurt a deer but I was participating with my BB gun nonetheless. While I could tag along on a few excursions, real hunting was for grownups but pretending was almost as fun. 

As I walked, the weather continued to get colder and the winds began to pick up. I enjoyed the snow. As a kid who at that time had lived a good part of my life near or south of the Mason Dixon line, I suppose I was too new to the planet and the far North to recognize a bad winter storm had been moving in. As it began to get dark, I started considering turning back for home. The distant baying of wild dogs helped make my decision. I knew about them... The steady closing of the noise convinced me to pick up my pace. 

In that area, wild dogs were not common enough to worry about but they were around. If you were a little kid alone at night with a BB gun, you had a little more to worry about than adults. I began pushing harder but, with the accumulating snow, couldn’t cover as much ground as I was used to. At first I wasn’t overly worried; often the dogs bayed but didn’t show because they were, basically, afraid of people. However, this time, they kept closing and I began to realize that the dogs may have known that they were tracking a single, small human and it had been a cold, hungry, winter for them. 

Finally, I realized I was not going to make it out of the forest and that the dogs were going to catch me. As I glimpsed shadows through the brush around me, I used my last seconds to find a sturdy tree and climb it. I dropped my sling-less and useless gun scrambling up through the icy branches of an oak. As I got set up on a solid limb, the dogs surrounded the base of the tree and began taunting me with their baying and barking, I think they were telling me something I already knew, that I was in a Catch 22. Stay in the tree, I freeze to death. Go back to the ground and I would have to take my chances with the hungry pack. I chose the tree and with nothing else to do but wait and bide my time. I realized that I was probably going to miss a lot of things, not least among them was Christmas by only a day or two; that was a bummer. I had asked Santa for a .22 caliber rifle and felt silly now for not asking for it the previous year.

Then I got an idea. Even though I was quaking on the edge with the quickly dwindling camp of the last fifth graders who were believers in the magic of Christmas; I was still a believer. So, I began to pray to Saint Nicholas for help. He knew when I was sleeping, bad or good. How about in deep trouble? Maybe he could swing down in his sleigh and pick me up. I passed some long seconds imagining myself in his sleigh on the way home maybe even with a cup of hot chocolate…then I felt guilty for asking too much. As I began to feel my body stop shaking and begin to stiffen, my mind began to slow. I positioned myself so that I would stay locked in the tree after I lost consciousness and continued my little boy prayer to Santa Claus. 

As my awareness began to shrink and darken, I thought I heard jingles then a yell and a shot. The dogs yelped and took off. Looking down on the ground, I saw a large man with a big white beard, red coat and bag reaching up and pulling me out of the tree. He got me warm almost instantly and as I came to I said, “Thank you, Santa”. He looked at me funny but I continued, “Thanks for hearing my prayers; I thought I was a goner.” The big man laughed a hearty laugh then told me, “Boy, you’re hypothermic, it’s Mr. Rommel. I was just checking my traps. All I heard was the dogs and wanted to see what they cornered. You’re lucky I was running late today.” Then it made sense to me. Mr. Rommel was an old local woodsman known to trap the nearby creek carrying a big red sack to hold his traps and game in. Once I was able to walk again, he helped me to the edge of the woods where it would be safe for me to continue home. Before we parted ways, he chastised me again about staying out late and told me to go right home so my parents wouldn’t worry. Then he said, “Be good, good night and Merry Christmas.” I felt a little silly about calling him Santa, even though he didn’t seem to mind too much. So, I turned to apologize for it. (Mostly from the fear that he’d mention it somewhere and it would get around to the guys), but when I turned around he was gone but I heard that jingle… I pictured his traps swaying in his pack. 

A Merry Christmas came and went and I didn’t see Mr. Rommel until early spring. It was while I was back in the woods walking along the creek fishing; he was in his “yard”. Mr. Rommel was friendly as usual; he never minded teaching kids stuff. As we talked, I waited for him to bring up the dogs of December but he didn’t. So, as I began to leave I thanked him for saving me. At that Mr. Rommel’s demeanor changed some and he got a serious look on his face as he asked, “What do you mean?” I said, “You know, when you saved me from the dogs.” He crossed his arms, pulled his beard and asked with a big furry raised eyebrow, “What are you talking about?” I began to protest for a second but then stopped short and studied him… then smiled and just said, “Never mind, my mistake.” At that he just grinned and said, “Ok, now run along. I’ve got work to do.” 

To this day I don’t know if old Mr. Rommel was playing with me, giving me a little hope in the magic, or if I had a case of mistaken identity but it doesn’t really matter who was in the suit, it was a miracle. After that, I knew that I had been in the right camp all along and I would never leave it. For those who remain faithful, there is Christmas magic and the Saints do answer prayers.

See you along the stream.