Christmas was approaching, and our country was in the middle of World War II. My mother was raising five children alone, since we had lost our father five years earlier. My sister was the eldest at age 18, and I was the youngest at 10. There were three boys in between. We were living in an old, rented farmhouse with just the bare necessities.
During the war, there were shortages of many things. Some things that had to be imported, such as sugar and coffee, were especially scarce. Ration tickets were issued, and families were allotted just so much of a product, according to family size. Sugar was the big item that was carefully used. When Mom received her ration of sugar, she would divide it into six containers with our names on them, and we would each have to make our share last until the next allotment. We learned to use it sparingly on our cereal, and Mom used her share for cooking and canning.
My sister and I secretly saved our sugar for some time before Christmas, until we had enough to make a batch of fudge. Chocolate was also scarce, so we had hidden the cocoa powder behind the jars of canned food in the pantry. We made our candy while the boys were out in the woods getting a tree, then put it on the top shelf of the pantry.
On Christmas Eve, after we had finished our supper, which usually consisted of soup, Mom’s homemade bread and canned fruit, we gathered around the wood heater stove. The snow was falling quietly outside, and the ornaments we had made were shining in the light from the kerosene lamp. There was no money for gifts, but we were happy to receive a stocking cap or a pair of mittens or slippers that our mother had made.
