By Joan Passarelli
Blue Jeans & Jelly Beans
It makes me sad when I see people taking down their Christmas trees on December 26. The forlorn tree, with stray tinsel blowing in the wind, stands at the curb, just as abandoned as the sacks of crumpled wrapping paper next to it.
The big day’s over, some organized souls think. We’ve had the tree up for a few weeks, we’ve had Christmas, now it’s time to clean up and move on.
Some people will dash off to sales this week. They’ll fight crowds to find bargains, exchange gifts, and stock up on Christmas decorations for next year.
Really, though, Christmas isn’t over, it’s just begun. Yesterday was the beginning of this joyous season, and it will go on through January 5.
We get twelve days in all to rejoice that God came to be human with us.
Here’s how I like to observe these 12 days. I don’t do the shopping expeditions. The crowds are too much for me, and I’m going to forget where I put the Christmas things by next December.
I like to enjoy the 12 days of Christmas in quiet ways. It’s not a time to plan anything or get anything done.
With the kids home from school, and my husband off work for a while, we can take walks. We can bake cookies and have time to decorate them. We can play games together, or rent old movies and watch them with popcorn.
This reminds me of something Ursula K. LeGuin wrote. The world of one of her fantasy novels has a calendar with several days at the end of it called the “fallows” of the year.
Farmers let fields lie fallow one year out of seven or so. In the fallow year, the field is not planted, but left alone to grow whatever happens to come up. This replenishes the field’s strength. It will grow better crops the next year because of its rest.
The idea of “fallow” days repulsed me at first. It sounded like untended days growing weeds.
But now I see what LeGuin meant. This week between Christmas and New Year’s Day is fallow in the sense that it’s left untouched by the outside world. These days lie fallow, not planted. They are left to grow whatever seed naturally falls there, without the pressure of producing a useful crop.
In this week, I feel suspended between one year and the next. Sometimes I write information into my new calendar. Sometimes I use my fallow days to clean out old things from my closet, to lighten my journey into the new year.
When I let me life lie fallow, seeds do fall into it. A friend calls and wants to go for a walk. This isn’t an unwelcome interruption in a busy life; it’s a wildflower I can let take root. We walk, we talk, and our friendship grows.
Perhaps someone will stop by this week. Instead of rushing them off, I invite them in. Again, something new can grow in the soil of my fallow time, something I wouldn’t grow if I were farming the crop of productive days.
What will grow in my fallow days? Friendships and relationships with my family will grow. My health will probably improve, because I’ll be getting more rest and not rushing around to parties and things. I’ll probably work on some new songs. Small, quiet sprouts in my fallow earth.
Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, I wish you some peaceful, fallow days in this time at the end of the year. May they replenish your strength.
Passarelli is the mother of three and will have her Christmas tree up until January 6. Her column runs the fourth week of the month.
