As I write this article, it is about 34 degrees outside, but the sun is shining, which makes it so much better. This year, 2025, winter has paid us a visit here in our beloved homeland. Keep those coats and sweaters handy. When thinking about my childhood in and around White Springs and the cold weather, I can clearly see scores of chimneys across our little town. The smoke coming from those chimneys was visible and smelled of fat "lighterd" as the dark smoke moved upward. There were fireplaces in practically every house in town, and they weren't there for aesthetic appearance; they were utilized this time of year for the purpose of providing heat. You would see folks driving out in the flatwoods to gather wood that would be chopped for fireplaces and wood stoves. The billowing smoke and the smell of wood fires during the winter months stay embedded in the memories of my childhood. The sense of smell triggers memory, I am told. I believe it's true, for the smell of a wood fire transports me to winters of long ago. Out in the country and the flatwoods during white-tailed deer season, various families and groups repaired to their hunting camps, where much time was spent from November through January. I have heard that in South Louisiana, during the Christmas season, big pyramid-shaped bonfires are built along the rivers as a way of welcoming and guiding Papa Noel, or Father Christmas, Santa Claus. In the North Central Florida and South Georgia of my youth, one could have witnessed scores of big campfires extending from Echols and Clinch Counties in South Georgia all the way into Hamilton and Columbia Counties. A place of gathering for families to share stories, swap yarns, tell jokes and prepare for deer hunting. Campfires glowed like altar fires in worship of the magical and bountiful winter season. There was something about the comfort of fires, built-in fireplaces, wood stoves or deer camps that drew people together in camaraderie and a spirit of joviality. Good memories, as the frost covered the ground, and the spooky-looking fog rose from the breast of the old Suwannee River, winding its way slowly to the Gulf. During this cooler time of year, spend some time reminiscing, journaling or sharing with others about special memories you may have of this time of year. From the Eight Mile Still on the Woodpecker Route north of White Springs, wishing you a good week. Stay warm.
