On the southern Illinois dairy farm of my youth, we marked seasons by the work more than by the month.

The planting season, for example, usually began in April and often ended when we drilled soybeans into wheat stubble in early July. Harvest season started when silage season ended and, more than once, nudged into butchering season.

The best season for my siblings and me was, no surprise, Christmas. Unlike farming seasons, however, Christmas arrived slowly–well after Thanksgiving–and left quickly. Our Christmas trees rarely saw New Year's.

The short Yule season made its shopping season even shorter, often just a few December Friday nights when our family might go to town for groceries, to the bank, or to pick up repair parts.

On those forays, my oldest brother Rich was entrusted with h

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