Kiver's Bend Christmas

Last year in Kiver’s Bend, we encountered our very own Christmas miracle. It'd been unseasonably cold, the ducks migrated early, which no one really minded since we all pretty much hated the ducks. Loud, rude beggars, they lacked certain social graces we hold in high esteem in our town. Still it was strange that they should leave so early, as they typically wait for Hank Thorton's blood pressure to reach dangerous levels before they give his lawn its annual six month reprieve from their desecration. Hank was constantly swearing to anyone who'd listen that someday, some way, he'd get rid of those stupid ducks. As it was, they disappeared mid October, two days after the Fall Pie Festival. One day they were there, hundreds of them, congregating in the lake just off Hank's property, the next they were gone. Odd behavior for ducks, leaving like that without so much as a quack for goodbye, and it gave us conversation for at least 12 hours, wondering where the ducks went.

Not ones for dwelling on the poor manners of aquatic fowl, the townsfolk carried on about their business. Talk quickly turned back to the Fall Pie Festival which had recently caused such a hubbub.

There were, of course, the parades, crafts, dances, eating contests and a full re-enactment of the event of Kiver’s Bend’s birth. A lovely thing, that bit of drama. Every year the Pie Queen dresses as the town's beloved Matriarch, Ophelia Anne Kiver. She climbs atop the old wagon in the square and bullies, harangues and generally abuses the poor sap stuck playing Josiah Abraham Kiver for a period of no less than six hours. The theme of her discourse is his ineptitude followed closely by her insistence that he stop right here and build her a home as she's a cultured lady and has no intention of taking one more step into the wild unknowns of Pennsylvania. The script for the program is a triumph of literary art that consists of 300 pages of the most creative personal slurs ever flung at another person without using a single expletive. The town elders swear it a word-for-word copy of the original monologue extemporized by Ophelia Kiver herself. After all, it's a well-known fact that Ophelia Kiver was a lady, and no lady would ever sully her reputation by resorting to the use of coarse language.

Perhaps one of the most cherished events of the celebration is the pie baking contest for which the festival was named. Every year, the most amazing assortment of apple, pumpkin, cherry, blueberry, mincemeat and peach pies you've ever seen grace the tables donated by Mrs. Greble, the local baker. Several unusual pies have graced these sacred ranks over the years as well, including grape, watermelon, pineapple and juniper, though the word amazing probably wouldn't be attached to any of them, at least not in a complimentary way.

Now, Mrs. Greble is the undisputed champion and has been since she created the contest 69 years ago, and there had been extra talk going around that year about the contest, as for the first time in known history, Mrs. Greble had taken on an assistant over the summer.

Aldus Rain was a young man who worked up the road at the cement plant and had taken a shine to Mrs. Greble's great granddaughter Suzie Orfax. Aldus was a fine young man, though you could safely say he was exactly as sharp as a marble, but he was a good boy, an honest boy, and a hard worker. Being that Mrs. Greble's 87 year old muscles were finding the stress of lifting those heavy bags of flour a bit much, Aldus gladly stepped in to offer his assistance. Every other day he'd load up the bags in the back of his truck on the way home from the cement plant and heft them into the kitchen for her.

The best person to comment on the results of Mrs. Greble's and Aldus Rain's business relationship would probably be Dr. Pain, our dentist. It was with a bit of a surprise that Dr. Pain showed up to his office the morning after the pie baking contest to find fully half of the community waiting in his parking lot. Later he was heard to remark that it appeared everyone had taken to chewing rocks. Even Hank Thorton had to stop ranting about the effects of ducks on lawns long enough for Dr. Pain to fix a broken tooth, though the hygienist swears she heard him mumble "gonna get them ducks, Doc."

Eventually, Dr. Pain was able to piece together what had befallen the poor townsfolk's teeth. Poor, near-sighted Mrs. Greble had failed to notice that Hank - who'd filled in for Aldus several days earlier so he could pick up a ring for Suzie in Pittsburgh - had mistakenly included a bag of instant cement with her bags of flour on the day she set about making the dough for her pie crusts for the Festival. The resulting concrete pies wreaked havoc on the townspeople's teeth.

Immediately a letter was drafted and delivered to the company that manufactured the sacks used both by the flour mill and the cement plant. In short, it asked that they please redesign one or both sacks so as to avoid a similar problem in the future.

Naturally, Mrs. Greble asked Aldus to dispose of the remaining concrete-dough. Aldus had dutifully taken it and dumped it off the property.

After the excitement of the concrete pie contest died down, there was cause for celebration. Word spread that after the pie contest, Aldus Rain proposed to Suzie Orfax by the lake in the moonlight, the night before the ducks left.

Things returned to normal for while after that. A well-planned walk through town on a Tuesday night could take you past each of our nine Presbyterian churches where you could pause and enjoy the sounds of the different choirs practicing their music for Sunday. We have a Baptist church as well, but that's kept open mostly for profiling purposes.

As Christmas approached, there came an evening that would bring the events of the fall together to culminate in a miracle that will be remembered for generations to come.

We have a little girl in town, she just turned six this year, a tiny thing named Hazel Mae. Serious health issues at birth, and relapses since, have left her in a semi-catatonic state, refusing to speak, or even smile. Precious little girl, adored by the entire community.

Three days before Christmas Hazel Mae's mother, Janice, took her to visit her uncle Hank on a sunny morning at his house on the lake. In that very special way known only to five year olds and cats, tiny little Hazel Mae found her way outdoors, down the yard and out onto the famously treacherous ice of Kiver’s Lake.

Janice and Hank quickly realized Hazel was missing and sprinted out into the yard with the speed born of panic. There she stood, thirty feet out on the ice, looking down intently into the water. Hank and Janice stopped at the edge of the ice, debating the best way to retrieve Hazel when she looked straight at them and broke right through the ice, all the way up to her shins.

Wondering what on earth she could be standing on, Hank cast caution aside and sprinted out onto the lake, breaking through the ice with every step. Looking down in astonishment as the water barely reached the tops of his boots, he burst into laughter, reached Hazel, scooped her up and ran her back to the shore.

Delivering a shivering Hazel Mae into her mother's arms, Hank laid right down in the snow and laughed himself silly. As Hank's guffaws shot through the air, a merry tinkle answered them. Janice stared at her precious daughter as Hazel Mae laughed and laughed and laughed that perfectly wonderful and infectious laugh that can only come from a five year old. Her eyes sparkling and shoulders heaving she grabbed hold of her mother's face with both hands and said five of the most beautiful words a mother's ever heard: "Mommy, I found the ducks"

In the days to follow, as living room window witnesses described the amazing sight of Hank Thorton sprinting across the surface of the lake, the mystery unraveled. Young Aldus, in an effort to be romantic last October, took his sweetheart down by the water to feed the ducks in the moonlight. Having forgotten to bring bread to give the annoying creatures he escorted Suzie to the spot near Hank's home where he'd dumped the concrete dough that afternoon. They discussed romantic things while tossing small chunks of the dough into the water for the greedy ducks to gorge themselves on. So lost were they in each other's eyes and the romance of the moment, they failed to notice the ducks, one by one, sinking like stones, where they made a handy platform that ended up saving a five year olds life.

Once Hank realized that he was the one who was responsible for the concrete dough, he can't help but end the story by saying: "Told ya I'd get them ducks."