I was recently reminded of a story I heard from a dear friend involving her unusual holiday experience back in the ‘40s. She and her husband had little in the way of money back when Second World War clouds were gathering. What they did have, however, was a recurring case of wanderlust. So with friends who shared travel expenses, they found themselves in southern Texas near the Big Bend National Park as it was nearing its official opening. It was also just a few days before Christmas.

Then as the holiday grew even closer, their friends left to spend time with family, and she and her husband found themselves camped alone in the rugged country high above the Rio Grande River. With a small tent, a limited number of canned items and a bit of fruit, they opted to spend the Blessed Holiday in the outdoors they loved so much.

But Rhea herself should tell you the rest of the story.

“We’d been lucky to find a place flat enough and large enough to pitch our tent, and it afforded a fine view of the country around us.

“So after our friends had departed we decided to do some exploring and reasoned that the steep trail downward would take us to the river. We’d seen pictures of some huge catfish taken by local fishermen in a local gas station the day before. Immediately we regretted not having brought our fishing tackle with us. Nevertheless we wanted to see the waters where these big fish lived.

“Very soon after we reached the water we found a sturdy trout line in a bush, left by an angler. We decided to borrow it and try for a fish. Using some of our very limited supply of canned meat, we baited up and tossed the offering into the river.

Next day, Christmas Eve, we returned to find a fine blue cat of about ten pounds on the line. This would be our holiday dinner if we could figure out how to keep the fish fresh and alive until the next day.

“Searching about the area we found a small, clear stream that flowed into the river. At an appropriate place we dammed the water, making a fine pool and placed the fish in it. He seemed happy and secure and we returned to camp.

“But the next day when we came back to claim our Christmas dinner, all that remained was fins and scraps. Coyotes had feasted on our fish sometime earlier.

“So we returned to camp and surveyed our food supply. Then as night approached we shared a can of beans and some pudding for our holiday feast. We finished with an orange.

“But we sat in front of our tent with the flashes of our campfire reflecting off the tinfoil ornaments we’d placed on a little mesquite bush (Christmas tree). We watched a beautiful sky for the rising of the Star of the East as wild burrows grazed just a few yards away.

“And you know, that was one of the most peaceful and beautiful Christmases I can remember.”

Rhea, who recently passed away in her late nineties, told me this remarkable story some fifty years after it took place and I was just as moved then as if it had taken place yesterday.

Christmas can be beautiful wherever it’s celebrated if the true spirit of the season is present.