Musings
The Ghost of Christmas Past
~ by Mark Blackwell
Most folks have probably noticed that we are experiencing blatant holiday creep. I have seen Fourth of July fireworks stands in business before Memorial Day. Kids are hardly out of school for the summer before stores start touting“ Back to School” sales and then they are back in the classroom before Labor Day, signaling the time to put up Halloween displays.
It shouldn’ t be too surprising then, that I was recently visited by the“ Ghost of Brown County Christmas Past.” He wasn’ t much like a Charles Dickens Christmas ghost. In fact, he bore a noticeable resemblance to the spirit of Brown County itself, Abe Martin.
I was relaxing in my backyard, basking in the glow of a warm evening sunset, in sort of an altered state of consciousness— not quite dozing but not quite awake— when I sensed a presence hovering over my left shoulder. And I heard a voice that spoke to me in a rustic dialect that was familiar but one that I had not heard for a while.
I said,“ Abe? Is that you?” The voice answered,“ Yep. Wuz ya’ spectin’ sum buddy else?” I told him I wasn’ t’ spectin’ anybody at all. Then I asked what he was doing in my backyard. I hadn’ t heard much from him since I moved from my little cabin home on the ridge.
34 Our Brown County • Nov./ Dec. 2025
Abe said he hadn’ t been around because he had a little trouble locating me, and that it was“ sum travelin’ ta git to where ya hed relocated to.”
“ Well, just how did ya find me?” I asked. And Abe said he latched on to my daydreams and just followed the tracks of my nostalgia.
Abe said he could sense that I was lost in a reverie of Christmases past, and he thought I could use a guide. I was okay with that because, when you get right down to it, there is no better pathfinder to Brown County’ s past. He started off by asking.“ Do ya’ member back’ bout aught six and you wuz throwin’ a Christmas party?” I did remember.
It was a jolly time, if I do say so, myself. The cabin was appropriately decorated. The missus had laid out a feast of pies and cookies and such. There were libations to lubricate the holiday spirit. And there was music.
I was a member of a string band back then and had made friends with other local musicians. One of those friends attended that particular shindig. His name was Slats Klug.