The Simplicity of a Modern Pioneer’s Christmas

Western Montana 
By Gayle M Irwin
Photography contributed

Snow falls quietly and temperatures plummet far below the freezing mark. I gaze out my frosty window, watching December arrive like an Arctic locomotive. A fire blazes in my woodstove, warming the house and my heart. Like the wafting snow outside, my mind drifts to another cold December nearly 25 years ago when I sat beside another woodstove, visiting my parents in Montana over Christmas.

Theirs was a simple life, but that simplicity was not void of hard work. It was a life without modern conveniences nor a “job-clock” to which to pay homage. The decision to become ‘modern pioneers’ took them to an isolated, 20-acre parcel in western Montana. 

Located five miles off the nearest pavement, their acreage in the Sapphire Mountains rose 8,000 feet above the lush Bitterroot Valley. Their home was a three-room cabin, and ‘amenities,’ as measured by most people, were few: no electricity, running water, or indoor plumbing. The heat was generated from wood. Instead of measuring possessions in the form of money, stocks and shares, or conveniences, my parents valued independence, self-sufficiency, and tranquility.  

Working side by side, my parents built their home from a timber shell and generated electricity from solar panels. They raised rabbits, chicken, and peacocks and hunted their own food. Their garden was abundant with potatoes, beans, squash, tomatoes, and corn.  Together, they created an environment they had long dreamed about, one few people realize in their lifetime: the gift of simplicity and owing no one.

I visited their woodland home the third winter after their relocation from “civilization.” The outdoor temperature hovered near zero from Christmas to New Year's, yet the cabin basked in warmth. Red and green candles illuminated the dining table and the cabin windows. Sugar cookies and homemade bread radiated their scent from the kitchen.  The wood stove billowed and heated the cabin. The colorful, old-fashioned Christmas decorations Mom displayed whispered memories of Christmases past. 

The Montana days and nights during that last week of 1983 shimmered with snow, starlight, and serenity. No traffic, no crowds, no job hassles, only a quiet solitude enveloped me in this white-laced wilderness. During the days, I watched songbirds at the feeder, saw mule deer and elk browse in the meadow, and rode horseback through the snow-covered forest. At night, I stepped out onto the front porch and gazed at countless stars twinkling in the crystal-clear sky, unencumbered by pollution, uninhibited by high rises.  

I thought of Bethlehem, the shepherds, the angels, the Christ child, and the joy and peace which surrounded that unique and glorious night. Later, I learned I was not the only one who felt so in-touch with earth’s first Christmas.     

As Mom prepared our holiday meal the eve before the celebrated day, I read part of her journal by candlelight, including the entry which she had written their first Christmas in the cabin: 

“As I look down below and see the lights of town, I imagine this must be 
what it was like that first Christmas, as the shepherds looked upon the
twinkling lights of Bethlehem. Oh, how peaceful, how beautiful it is here! 
The stars shine overhead, the lights glow in the windows of the houses below,
and the white snow falls gracefully from the sky.
I remember the carol ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’ and say, yes, what a silent, holy night it is.”

Later, after dinner and unwrapping gifts, I walked down to the meadow. I gazed at the valley below, just as my mother had done. Remembering her words from her journal, tears came to my eyes, as I, too, recalled and then whispered that famous carol:

“Silent Night, Holy Night; All is calm, all is bright;
‘Round yon Virgin lies Mother and Child;
Holy Infant, so tender and mild;
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.” 

That Christmas was indeed a Silent, Holy Night, so calm, so bright. As I surveyed the picture-perfect winter scene –a sky full of stars and a forest covered with a blanket of snow – I recognized that I was not only surrounded by postcard beauty, but I was also enveloped in a circle of love: love by and for my God and by and for my parents. I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving, grateful to the Creator for the chance to experience the beauty of a Montana mountain Christmas with a loving family, a gracious Heavenly Father, and a loving, sacrificial Savior whose birthday we celebrate.

My parents spent more than 15 years living as modern pioneers. We shared many memorable moments at their cabin, including several holidays. Each holds special meaning, but none compares to the first Christmas I experienced without artificial lights, artificial trees, and artificial mementos. 

Simplicity. Within that word we find love, peace, and joy, some of the greatest gifts in the world. Experiencing that Christmas solace a quarter-century ago reinforced to me the true meaning of the holiday – God’s simple gifts of His presence, His love, and His peace.