Hugh Martin CHRISTMAS HAS always been my favourite time of the year. The reasons for this are many although they have not remained the same over time. That is understandable of course, as one's interests will change through the various stages of growth and development. But one thing has remained constant, and that is the music of Christmas. There is that indefinable element, that ebullient quality that lifts the spirit and compels one to join each joyous chorus as the carols are brought out once again. And no matter how old they may be they are as fresh and as exciting as they were at their birth. It is so whether it is the up-tempo "Adeste Fidelis" or the andante "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel", the quietly reverent "Silent Night" or the jubilant "O Holy Night".
After the music is the food. That has not changed either, which perhaps explains my constant struggle between January and March each year to get rid of extra poundage. The food at Christmas is well, satisfying. Very satisfying. There are more elegant ways of expressing this and my darling sister, Gloria and her husband Hans, chef extraordinary, with whom I've spent these last few Christmases, will not forgive me for this inadequacy. I still intend, though, to eat again at their table this Christmas. Traditions, once established, must be observed.
THE LINK
The link between the music, food, the farm and Christmas must by now be obvious. Christ was born on the farm surrounded by farm animals. ("Away in a Manger"). The news of His birth was first announced to shepherds in the field. ("While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night"). On His flight to Egypt to escape Herod's assassins it is reported (probably apocryphal) that he passed fields of corn planted in the morning and these were ready for reaping in the evening of the same day when the assassins reached that point. He was to visit the cornfields later in His ministry when he made the famous pronouncement to the Elders that the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath.
The ritual of my first communion probably influenced my appreciation for the music and the food (in that order). One had to fast before communion and in that childhood state of grace and innocence the wonderful music throughout the service filled me with awe and wonder. But at the end the forgotten hunger rose rampant and the sumptuous breakfast was a delight never to be forgotten. Being a product of the farm I was able to recognise that every item of that breakfast came from the farm; the fruits, the milk, the chocolate, the eggs, the ham, the boiled bananas, the bread, the butter and the sugar. And it was Christmas.
CHILDREN OF THE CITY
To the children of the city all these things come from the supermarket. They have not seen that stem burst from the soil, the almost imperceptible opening of its tender leaves to the sun, its embrace of the gentle drops of rainfall. They do not know of the onslaught of numerous pests and diseases, the long struggle for survival when the rain does not come and the wind lashes hot and dry day and night. Or when the drought ends suddenly with torrential showers that flood hard-crusted soil too unprepared to absorb it. Not understanding this they become the merchants who seek and import the carefully cultured, subtly subsidised, cheap and tasteless vegetables to compete against the sun-made products that survive.
It is the widely held view that Christmas is the time of the merchants and all else are victims of their masterful salesmanship. That view is not without merit. The congested streets, the overcrowded shops, the money in circulation, all confirm this. But Christmas is a great time too for the farmer. Indeed, he has been preparing for it no less than the merchant. He planted his yam in the spring to reap at Christmas. So, too, his gungo peas and his sorrel. And he began the fattening process of his pigs about then. In the fall his vegetables are put in as well as his chickens and his steers are being prepared. His layers are programmed to be at their peak because the demand for eggs will be there as well, and the price will be great. In short, the farmer licks his finger when Christmas comes.
I want to wish my readers, especially those that have taken the time to send messages, a holy and peaceful Christmas. To the farmers of Jamaica, may you have a happy and profitable season. You have taken the risks, you deserve the rewards.
Hugh Martin is a communication specialist and farm broadcaster. E-mail: humar@cwjamaica.com
