In my youth I was a humble working cowboy riding for the CO Bar—that’s the Babbit Ranch. One day the Old Man came to me and said, “My prize broodmare has run off. Track her down and bring her back.” He was boss so I saddled up my pony and set out to find that runaway horse.
All day I rode through the golden aspens under a bright blue sky and it was a glorious day to be on horseback in the mountains. When the sun started going down I still hadn’t found the runaway but I came upon a little cabin the cowboys used for a linecamp. When I woke up the next morning I had two surprises. The first was that my pony had busted out of the rotten log corral and headed back to the ranch. The second surprise was that it had begun to snow. At first the flakes were only the size of a dime. But as I watched they became the size of a silver dollar, and I knew I was in trouble when they got to be the size of a dinner plate. I went into the cabin and closed the door and in no time the snow had drifted against the door and I couldn’t get out.
I settled into a routine. I’d get up in the morning, build a fire and fix some breakfast and then I’d go to the door post and cut a notch to mark the passage of time—and time did pass. I began to run short on wood and I started to burn the furniture in the cabin. I burned the kitchen table and chairs. I burned the entertainment center. I began to run out of food. There came a morning when the only thing left to eat was a handful of oatmeal and part of a box of Babbitt’s Best Soap Flakes. I cooked it up and ate it and then began belching bubbles. I’ll tell you the truth, to this day I can’t stand the taste of soap.
I counted the notches on the doorpost and do you know it was Christmas Eve? If I could just get out of the cabin I might get a shot at a deer or elk. I had an idea. I took my rifle and shinnied right up the inside of the chimney. I stuck my head up and looked around and as far as I could see in every direction it was white. The snow covered everything. The only thing sticking though the snow was the top of a ponderosa pine. (I measured that tree later at 372 feet tall).
Then I heard a sound—“Gobble gobble gobble.” It was a wild turkey flying low across the horizon. I threw up my rifle and just as I pulled the trigger the temperature dropped. At 746 degrees below zero my rifle just went “phhhtt” and the bullet went about three feet out of the barrel and froze solid in the air. I looked at the turkey and it was frozen solid in the air too. I was discouraged.
I went back down the chimney and started a fire. Just as the fire was going perfect the temperature dropped again. At 1,324 degrees below zero my fire froze solid. The flames looked like they were made of glass. I got so mad I began to beat the fire with the poker. Tiny broken shards of flame scattered everywhere.
Christmas Eve. I didn’t have anything to eat. I didn’t even have a fire to warm me. For a while I was the loneliest cowboy in Arizona. But then I said, “It’s Christmas Eve. I’m going to have a Christmas tree.” I gathered up the shards of flame and went back up the chimney. I began to decorate the pine tree with the bits of flame. When I finished I sat on the edge of the chimney to survey my handiwork. It was beautiful.
That night I was awakened by the sound of a great wind—a Chinook blowing in from the Rockies and the temperature began to rise. When the sun came up on Christmas morning I was able to open the door and step out into the muddy yard.
Bang! I looked up in time to see my bullet zip across the sky just as the turkey began to flap its wings. Mortally wounded, it made its way to the top of my Christmas tree. Just then the bits of frozen flame began to thaw and a ball of fire swept the tree. Out of the sky through the smoke and cinders an object fell. I caught it in my arms: a perfectly roasted turkey! I ate everything but the gobble.
Nearby was a deep canyon racing with snowmelt. As I watched, a dead tree came floating by and without thinking I leaped on the tree and down the mountain I went. The flood washed me out on Aspen Avenue in downtown Flagstaff in front of Choi’s Diner. I went inside and ordered a piece of pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top. And that was the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had.
