That cold Christmas Eve, Jaybird leaned on the porch rail, looking across land he had worked for seventy years. In moon-blanched stillness, the stubble-strewn fields were taking their winter rest.
They deserved it. The old farmer had seen good cotton years and bad, but none like this one. The rains had come, plenteous and timely. The long summer days had been hot and humid, and cotton’s green blood, chlorophyll, raced in a delirium of photosynthesis from sunlight to leaves to soil to fruit, loading the plants with bulging bolls that produced a yield to top all yields.
From inside the house, Jaybird heard children laughing as they huddled about the Christmas tree, jostling one gift after another, speculating about their contents. The fireplace roared, stockings were hung, and good smells wafted from the kitchen. The house was packed. Everyone was home for the holidays. Savoring this moment of peaceful solitude, the old plowman wasn’t quite ready to join them.
He strolled to the barn to check on the livestock. With its tin roof and thick cypress siding, the old building was as snug and weatherproof as ever. A rush of pride lifted his heart when he saw the great, heaping mound of warm, white cotton stored in the barn, yet to be ginned. Just the sight of it made him marvel again at the magnitude of the year’s bountiful harvest. Satisfied that all was well, he switched off the light, closed the gate, and turned toward home.
In the cold, clear, frosty night, Jaybird looked up at a gibbous moon, surrounded by Heaven’s infinite hosts — the stars of the Milky Way.
Then he stopped. That one big star … was it there last night? Had it always been there? Surely he would have noticed … its glorious brightness … the way it seemed fixed directly above the good dirt beneath his feet, the place he’d always known as home. He struggled to draw his eyes from it.
Entering the yard, Jaybird saw strangers on the front porch, a young couple.
“Greetings, and merry Christmas,” he said, noticing the woman’s bulging midsection. Her time was near. The man spoke.
“I see your home is full, but can you provide us shelter for just one night?”
“Well, there’s cotton stored in the barn, and with all those animals giving off warmth, you should be able to pass the night in reasonable comfort,” Jaybird answered.
Thanking him, the couple moved off into the dark. Jaybird’s grandchildren volunteered to take them food, blankets, and gifts — an example of Christmas spirit at its best, their wise patriarch thought.
In bed that night, with his whole family under one roof, Jaybird drifted off to sleep, thinking of the strangers. An hour before dawn, he dressed quietly and headed for the barn.
The wayfarers were gone, but they had left a note attached to the blanket, signed by Mary, Joe, and newborn son, Christian. It read: Peace on Earth, good will toward men.
Jimmy Reed——
Bio and Archives
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
