Courtesy photo Alpena News staff writer Josh Jambor and his family pose for a photo in this Christmas from years ago.

ALPENA – My earliest memories of Christmas always bring me back to the farm.

When you get involved in farming, you understand the sacrifices that come with it. A typical day for my grandpa involved working down at the local foundry, then coming home to work on the farm.

My grandpa was a very hard-working man. He kept that schedule for thirty years before retiring from the foundry. No matter the weather, time of day, or how he felt. He took care of his responsibilities.

Chores must be done no matter what day it is. Christmas was no different.

Christmas Mass was mandatory for the family. Even if you had not been to church all year, it was an unspoken commitment every year. If you missed, you better have a good excuse.

During my early years, Christmas Eve was always at my great-grandparents’ home. They owned a horse farm, but theirs was a much larger operation than my Grandfathers. Located about 20 minutes from Milwaukee, in Fredonia, Wisconsin.

They usually had around 40 horses spread out across 100 acres of land. The house was like a castle to my younger self. With giant glass windows overlooking the property and a huge fireplace. I will never forget the way it looked decorated for Christmas.

That horse farm is still up and running to this day. They offer lessons, trail rides, and boarding.

Christmas Day was spent on my grandfather’s farm. My grandfather passed away when I was 14- years old. Until the age of 12 years old, I would visit him and spend weekends at his farm in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin.

The driveway to the farm was a long gravel road. The house was white, with two stories. There was a garage with a large wood shop connected to it. For a young boy, it was like having an endless play area.

I remember looking out into the field behind the barn and seeing nothing but tall grass and wide open space, as far as the eye can see. With deer and wildlife roaming free. There was an outdoor riding space for people to ride their horses. In the winter, it looked like a giant blanket of white. Sadly, that same land is now filled with new subdivisions.

As the years go by, some of the memories begin to fade. I am now in my forties with three children of my own. Although we have our traditions in my home, I often find myself missing how it used to be. As a child, Christmas was this magical time of the year. Where you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, and you know exactly why.

When you get older, you do your best to pass that magical feeling onto your own kids. From tracking Santa on the NORAD tracker, to leaving cookies and milk. Many traditions have remained intact for generations.

My mother made sure we had gifts under our Fraser Fir tree each year. As a single mother, that was no easy task.

Over the years, when family members are no longer with us, continuing some of the Christmas traditions can be challenging. We adapt and adjust our plans as the years go by, the best we can. After all, what else can you do?

Nobody likes a grinch.

If there is one regret I have in regards to my grandfather, it would be the things I did not say. The questions I did not ask, and not writing down every story he told. As a pre-teen, when you hear older generations tell their stories, you do not pay attention like you should. I will always beat myself up for not listening intently.

I hope you are blessed with some good stories this Christmas, or possibly share some of your own.

If you are on the listening end of a story, I offer this advice…listen carefully.