Christmas Bobsled

Christmas Bobsled

A Calumet County Accounting

Hanging on the wall of my shed

Is an Auto-Wheel Coaster Company sled,

A three-man Fleetwing with wheel and cowl

To keep to the course when the runners howl!

I haven’t had it long nor the pleasure of a ride,

But imagination and possibilities are my guide

Since some generous soul decided to give it away

And as luck would have it, it came my way.

Chilton’s St. Martin’s Lutheran Congregation

Recently held a Trivia Night and Silent Auction

Whereupon my winning bid garnered me the sleigh

And a good parishioner helped me carry it away.

Its condition is exceptional, though it has been used,

But there is little evidence that it’s ever been abused.

And while the manufactured year still remains in question

The middle nineteen-thirties has been a good suggestion.

I’ve hitched to those year’s now because my dad was 10

With nine other brothers to share Christmas back then

When money was tight and the Depression full-on

And a gift like this would have been barrels of fun!

Grandpa’s farm was on Tower Road high above the lake

With two grand hills heading down for sleighs without a brake!

But Hook Hill turned out at the bottom to help you slow and stop

While Quinney Hill was straight and fast with 500 feet of drop.

Bright knit scarves wrapped tight around each rider’s face

Would stream behind the wild screams and exciting, flying pace

As down they flew, faster than they knew, until the hill gave way

With nothing left except to trudge up the cliff the other way.

Putz Lisowe says they used to stop the cars on Highway 55

So the sleds could come screaming through, “And man-alive,

What a ride! Some went out a mile on the lake before done,”

guessing that’s a two-and-a-half-mile run!”

It’s what I see when looking at that bobsled on the wall,

My dad and his brothers with Leroy, Bobby, C.J. and all*

All local kids making the most of what they had—

Hills, friends, and one Christmas bobsled from mom and dad.

By

James N. (Jim) Zitzelsberger

December, 2023

*Leroy and Bobby Schwobe and C.J. Propson who all went to the one-room school with my dad and his brothers in greater, downtown Kloten.

An Early Morning Christmas Call

An Early Morning Christmas Call

by

James N. Zitzelsberger

Merry Christmas, Mom!

Hope you’re having an enjoyable day.

….

I didn’t hear the forecast,

But a little snow may be on the way.

….

Did you hear the pounding of each little hoof

When the reindeer landed on your roof?

….

No? Well, maybe it was,

But it could have been Santa Claus up above.

….

Did you put out cookies and milk

Like you did when we were young?

….

Better than catching snowflakes on your tongue,

And a nice little snack when you were done.

….

Remember the year you ran the tavern

And Santa came early on Christmas Eve?

….

I can’t remember a thing I got

But it sure was a surprise at five o’clock!

….

No, I know you don’t need a thing,

And, maybe, nothing is what we’ll bring

When we get back together later today.

….

Well, maybe just a small bouquet

After we’ve fed the horses their noontime hay.

….

Nothing really special, she’s a lot like you

And doesn’t need a thing, used or new.

….

But I’ll tell her, though I wish you could too,

Maybe later-on when we stop to see you.

….

Looks cold outside with the wind blowin’

And the kitties are waiting for me to get goin’.

….

I know, Mom, and I love you too!

But it wouldn’t be Christmas without talkin’ to you….

Mavis Mae Backhaus Zitzelsberger
September 8, 1927 – November 24, 2022

In the Evening of December

In the Evening of December

When mourning doves gather in the evening of December

And the summer rains have turned to snow,

They coo a lullaby into the winter wind

That drifts over fields under a moonlit glow.

Towering trees bend in homage,

Spent grass and cattails weave with their song

When mourning doves gather in the evening of December

To welcome a saviour into their throng.  

By

James N. Zitzelsberger

© 2021

 

Covid Christmas (A Candid Bedtime Conversation)

Covid Christmas

(A Candid Bedtime Conversation)

December, 2020 

My little one asked sincerely last night

If Santa would be coming this year

Because everybody has to stay at home—

And what about masks for deer?’

I said, there was no need to worry,

That Santa would make it all right

Even if he came a day or two

Following Christmas night.

You see, I added, he has lots to do,

But, in the end, won’t forget about you

Because you’ve asked and understood

About so much in our worldhood:

Things like Santa’s elves working hard

To make medicine for the sick,

And how Santa’s flying it everywhere

At “Warp Speed,” clean and quick.

There are so many others, you see,

Who needs are greater than for you and me:

People without a house or a grocery store,

Or even the masks like the ones you’ve wore.

Just think of the ladies down at the bank,

And the gas-station folks with fuel for our tank,

And the policemen and firemen always on call,

And your teachers online from the school hall,

And they’re all hoping Santa shows up too

After delivering vaccine for the flu,

Because he has so much left to do

That we can’t imagine how he’ll ever get through!

Then I shut my mouth, thinking I’d said to much,

About things I don’t know and such ‘n’ such,

But what I heard next, brought a hand to my eye

And joy to my heart in one short reply:

‘OK,’ came first, ‘I guess I can wait,

And maybe ask Santa, if it isn’t too late,

To give some of my things to those who have none

If somewhere in the world it might help anyone.’

And with a kiss, I pulled the covers up tight,

Stepped to the door and turned off the light,

Saying, I love you, just loud enough to be heard—

And Santa loves you too, as my last word. 

by

James N. (Jim) Zitzelsberger

©2020

On the 75th Anniversary of the End of World War II

 

A Memorial Day Observation

On the 75th Anniversary of the End of World War II

If you can, please stand—not for what I am about to read here, but for those it is written about!

Ladies and gentlemen, I wish my dad were here,

And many of you wish the same, I fear,

For the decades have stretched so far and long

That our World War II soldiers are nearly gone.

From that “Day of Infamy,” 16 million served ‘til done

And over four-hundred-thousand never learned they’d won

Because they gave all they had when there was no more

So their families and homeland could be spared of war.

It is difficult to look back from where we are now

To prop-driven bombers and battleship prows,

Infantry brigades with the M-1 Garand

And paratroopers jumping into no-man’s land.

But those soldiers were tough and they followed orders well

Which often led them through the gates of hell

Where they came face-to-face with the devil’s crew,

And, more often than not, dealt them their due!

September 2nd, of ‘45 makes this a diamond anniversary year,

And, like I said, I wish my dad were here,

But seventy-five years plus a young man’s score

Makes those guys all ninety-five or more.

And though we thought they’d go on living forever

With that same determination in their every endeavor,

We find now that they really were only women and men

And wonder how they carried the world back then?

• Upon their backs is how it was done,

With courage, and sacrifice, and resolution—

For which we now stand in witness to honor those lost:

Downed on land, in air, and wild seas tossed!

May they live forever in freedom in our heads and our hearts,

Recalled and regaled for the sacrifices that set them apart,

And may the flag of our nation forever wave over them

For all they have given and gave so proudly….  Amen.

by

James N. “Jim” Zitzelsberger

© 2020

Ghost Soldiers

 Ghost Soldiers

A Memorial Day Salute

Last night I walked hand-to-hand

With some ghost soldiers from across this land

In witness of battles we can only see

Through their eyes and history.

We trod in quiet for quite a ways

While they thought, perhaps, about their living days

And maybe about some long lost love

Or parents and siblings they wondered of;

But when they spoke, to the one,

It was of a comrade and what they’d done:

A buddy, a sergeant, or some second lieutenant

Who could see the way with a victory in it!

They sucked it up, is what they said,

Knowing when they woke, they might be dead,

But then they charged the machine-gun nest

Or went over the top of salvation’s crest;

And what they did is what medals are for,

Heroics above and beyond the call of war,

Where none, they said, was left behind

Though after that their memories were blind.

They laid no blame, then or now,

Nor cursed their lot or solemn vow

To defend their country against any threat

And never once invoked the country’s dept!

We walked worn paths past historic points,

Those places where sacrifice clearly anoints

The legions of heroes noted on the scrolls of war,

Bespoke of their belief in what they bled for;

And onward we journeyed, hand-to-hand,

Until the first rays of dawn touched our land,

When to his post, each ghost soldier slipped back

To make ready again for any imminent attack.

 

The last to leave brought their colors down,

Close, but not once touching the ground,

Gave a smart salute and about-face-right,

Before marching off into the night

 

Leaving me alone to awake in my bed

With seeming miles afoot and notions ahead

To present this salute to that ghostly platoon

For sacrifice, valor, and lives taken too soon!

by

James N. (Jim) Zitzelsberger

© 2020

2019 (A Farmer’s Christmas Lament)

2019

(A Farmer’s Christmas Lament)

 

Sure am glad Christmas is here 

Because it’s been one hell of a year 

With global warming turned wet and cold, 

And early snow like in days of old. 

Half the corn is still out in the field, 

And don’t even ask about the yield, 

Nor the price per bushel of grain 

With no China deal and all that pain: 

Count yourself lucky for half a crop, 

And be thankful for what you’ve got, 

Because there’s neighbors all around here 

Who didn’t even get to plant this year. 

We’ve certainly had too much rain 

Which has made a dyke of every farm lane, 

Flooding fields on either side 

That lap and tear at a farmer’s pride! 

And then, as if markets an’ nature weren’t enough 

To make the year rough and tough, 

Politicians keep spreading their fertilizer 

On barren fields because they’re none the wiser! 

So nothing much else has been getting done, 

With only fleeting glimpses of summer sun, 

Except trying to keep those wet fields black 

And the miserable weeds from coming back. 

Oh, I hear milk is up a bit 

But you can’t see a cow from where I sit 

Because every small dairy farm in our town 

Has folded, ceased, and already shut down. 

Yet, I’m still hopeful for more December cold 

To finish the combining when the fields hold 

And earn some cash for next year’s seed, 

To top off the pile I didn’t need, 

And a few gifts under the Christmas tree 

For everyone who’s been putting up with me, 

Cussin’ an’ fussin’ an’ bendin’ their ear, 

Because it’s been one hell of a year!

 

Merry Christmas!

 

©2019

James N. (Jim) Zitzelsberger

Amish Christmas Wishes

 

Amish Christmas Wishes

If, for Christmas, I got a sleigh

And a couple of fancy mares,

We’d high-step through the snowdrifts

To share these thoughts and cares.

I’d hang their britches with sleigh bells,

Tie yellow ribbons in their manes

With red ones in their forelocks

And polished brass upon the hames.

Blue bows would adorn their fetlocks,

Silver studs ‘round nose and brow

And an old buffalo robe would warm me

Down the road from where I’m now.

We’d pull up to your doorstep

And I’d gently put you in the sleigh,

Tucking the warm robe around you

Before merrily slipping away. 

Down the snowy roads we’d travel

Between fences under fallen flake

Laughing at the weather

And every turn that we take.

But, alas, in the snow there is no letup,

And I have neither sleigh nor mare

No robe to warm me down the road

No way from here to there.

Except for these driving lines

Penned on a snowy Christmas Day

To pass the time and distance

Between you and me, and a sleigh….

by

James N. Zitzelsberger

© 2018

Around-About Christmas

 Around-About Christmas

Santa had a little time

With Christmas days away,

So he thought he’d take the reindeer out

And hitched them to his sleigh.

A practice jaunt across the sky,

With a few turns around a town,

Would help him get the bugs worked out

So he’d let nobody down.

He cracked his whip and away they flew

With Rudolf in the lead,

Across the far-flung heavens

At a tremendous flashing speed.

But with a wishful tug he reined them in

And slowed them to a trot

With his eyes on a round-about

For which he’d heard a lot.

His rig and all was a wee bit long,

Which made the turn a little tight,

And when he whistled for the deer to go,

A car cut him off on the right!

Rudolf came to a screeching halt,

With eight reindeer piled behind,

As a window dropped and a hand shot out 

With a piece of the driver’s mind!

But Santa simply let it slide

And made his turn at last—

Never mind all the honking horns

Or shouts as drivers passed!

No, he made it around, slow and safe,

The way he’d heard it should be done,

And as they flew back to the barn

They did some loops for fun.

But when they landed, he called to an Elf

To bring out the list of “Naughty or Nice”

And to run the plate from the ‘round-about—

If need be, run it twice!

By

James N. Zitzelsberger

© 2018

Two-gun Sue, the Buckaroo

 Two-gun Sue, the Buckaroo

A  Real, True, Genuine Christmas Crime Story*

Two-gun Sue, the Buckaroo,

Was totin’ her Christmas six-shooters;

And being as quick on the draw, as ever you saw,

She never mollycoddled no looters!

In the heart of the West, pinned to her chest,

Was a tin star that made her the law;

And no ne’re-do-well, nor vermin, pray tell,

Ever got away with nothin’ at all.

‘Twas Christmas day and atop the sofa she lay

Looking down on the valley behind

Where a villainous dude, evil and rude,

Crouched, hiding, while planning some crime.

But two-gun Sue, the Buckaroo,

Had watched a lot of wild-west shows

Where the butt of a gun is seldom undone

For taming rustlers and hustlers and bros!

In a flash, she cleared leather and put it together

Square on the back of his head;

And the scoundrel was laid, flat as a mackerel fileted,

“By the long arm of the law,” as it’s said.

Then down with a lurch, she dropped from her perch

When the Justice of the Peace walked in

Looking for her son, the son of a gun,

Who lay pistol whipped therein!

Oh, the scene was grievous, though mischievous,

Until the bandito slowly opened his eyes;

And there stood Sue, wearing her Clara Barton cap too,

Ready to nurse his goose egg on the rise.

Such is the story of our heroine in her glory,

And the Christmas six-guns she’s never seen since—

Permanently lost or spectacularly tossed

By her dad over the back-forty fence.

Yes, that was the day, the townsfolk all say,

When the Buckaroo turned over a new leaf

By abandoning the law for a medical call

Which brought the neighborhood a lot of relief….

By

James N. Zitzelsberger

©2017

*Authors Note 

This story was relayed to me by a close friend who maintains that the essential elements of the hide-and seek-game are all true.  As such, in the finest Sergeant Friday/Dragnet tradition, her name was changed to protect the guilty and any detours from her testimony are strictly mine, being made under the auspices of poetic licensure.