Today I he area, for so many years
alive with people and indusiry. cannot
boast of a single store or service sta¬
tion. a depot, or a post office. The mail
comes to the less than a dozen inhabi¬
tants by rural delivery from Pinnacle,
four miles away. One small business
building, obviously a former store,
stands abandoned and in ruins near the
spot where the depot once served as
the focal point of the area.
(•rand and Gracious
However, the Dalton house still
looms huge and imposing, a monument
to the past: the village once alive with
bustling humanity, factories and shops
that flourished, stage coaches bringing
worldly wise travelers to augment the
grandeur of the house, the blasts of the
stage driver's bugle to let the kitchen
help know how many diners to expect,
the lively banter of the traveling guests
at the dinner table, the dancing feet of
Ellen Gordon.
The house, to a degree, still domi¬
nates the scene, as it did when I first
saw it in passing through Dalton with
my father in 1914. The once white
structure, which looked out over Dal¬
ton’s enterpiises and farmlands, is
weathered and dull today. The roof,
unrepaired for many years, permitted
the rains to take their toll. Vandals
knocked out most of the window
panes. It stands forebodingly dark, its
grayness blending with the landscape,
its hoarded-up windows making me
think of the lifelessness in a dead man's
eyes.
Yet when I stood recently in the spa¬
cious back yard of the house. I found it
easy to imagine the pleasure Nick
Dalton felt one hundred and forty
years ago when he looked out across
the broad expanse of his river bottoms
to the Saura Mountain range lying ten
miles off in the northeast, and to the
majestic, granite-crowned Pilot
Mountain in the north. As I stood be¬
fore the footworn field-stone slab that
still serves as the front doorstep, and
looked up at the second story porch, it
was not difficult to imagine that I heard
the fiddled tunes, the stomping boots
of the boys-in-gray on leave from the
battlefields, and the "talking" feet of
Grandmother Ellen when the Daltons
played host to their friends and neigh¬
bors in the grand and gracious style of
the era.
EEMEMBEE?
HOW WE DISCOVERED
SANTA CLAUS
I remember Christmas — how my
brother and I would go with Papa to
our pasture where there were lots of
cedar trees. I think we examined every
tree in the pasture before we finally
selected one. Of course it was the
biggest one on the lot. Papa chopped it
down and we dragged it home. Papa
carried the big end. Will had the mid¬
dle. and it was all I could do to keep the
tip from touching the ground. I re¬
member helping to decorate the tree
with popcorn strings and cranberry
chains. Papa lit the candles. They were
lit only once. After that the tree would
be dry and it would be dangerous to
light them. But they made a magnifi¬
cent sight glowing and twinkling in the
dark. Mama had already put wreathes
in the windows and sprays of holly and
cedar behind the pictures on the wall
and along the mantel. Some of them
she had sprinkled with flour to look
like snow.
One Christmas especially I re¬
member. The day before Christmas
28
was cold and gray and rainy. Will and I
had nothing to do. Everybody was
busy elsewhere and had no time for us.
We made paper chains and decorated
the whole house with them, but we got
tired of that. Finally we decided to play
store. Mama let us pile up her sewing
machine drawers for counters. We al¬
ternated buyer and seller. I sold to Will
and Will sold to me. To make the sales
more real we put price tags on each
article sold. To get the tags we merely
pulled off the paper on the end of
spools of thread, tore them into little
pieces, licked them and stuck them on
the things to be sold.
We sold everything we could find
from mama's handkerchiefs and thim¬
ble and darning egg to Papa’s ties and
even his shoes.
All the time we were wondering.
Stevy had told us that there wasn't any
Santa Claus, that it was just our Papa.
We really didn't have any serious
doubts about that because Santa Claus
always visited us in person. Every
Christmas the neighborhood children
I Con tinned on
раце
37)
Paths
Of
Light
II
о
w
ап о
I cl Spanish
custom look root in
Smilhfield.
By FRANK G. MdNNIS
Once again on December 24.
Smilhfield and outlying towns will
glow with warmth and radiance when
residents will light over 22.000 candles
to launch the local, annual Christmas
Eve Luminaria.
The activity will begin late in the
afternoon as white paper bags, each
containing two or three inches of sand
and a candle, will be placed a few feel
apart along the edges of residential and
business streets, walkways, driveways
and sidewalks. At dusk the 7-hour
candles will be lighted and will burn ‘til
around 1 1 p.m.
Local churches will participate, too
— combining luminaria with their own
special Christmas Eve services to en¬
hance the beauty and meaning.
In past years, this ritual has been a
sight to behold. Cars with only parking
lights burning drive — often bumper-
to-bumper — along one-way arranged
streets, viewing the splendor of the
night. Many of the spectators are from
out of town. Some even come from out
of state.
This custom is centuries old and
began in Spain and Mexico when tiny
bonfires of wood were used. Spanish
settlers from Mexico brought the
practice to the southwest United
States. Later, lighted candles inside
paper bags came into use.
During a visit to the southwest in
1963. the Jimmy Wallace family of
West Smilhfield became impressed
with the custom and introduced it to
the Smilhfield area. The practice grew
slowly at first.
Luminaria Organized
Then, in 1972. Smithficld's Rose
Manor Garden Club hastened the
THE STATE, OECCMBtn 1978
