Born and raised in Mobile, I had a unique childhood. How many kids grew up watching ships in the bay and military planes at Brookley Field, all while playing on the beach in front of their house? As idyllic as that was, the most exciting time of year was when we travelled to my dad’s family home outside Boaz.

My grandfather’s farm was a magical place, especially at Christmas. The warmth that enveloped you as you entered the house was from a mixture of propane space heaters, an original fireplace, and the loving embrace of affectionate grandparents who remarked on how much I had grown since our previous visit.

Having survived the influenza pandemic and very hard times during the Great Depression, Maw and Paw Cash lived simply. Preparing the house for Christmas consisted of putting up a Christmas tree—selected by Paw from the woods adjacent to his farm. Illuminated by a single string of multicolored lights with the giant bulbs, and finished with some glass balls and silver tinsel, it frequently resembled Charlie Brown’s selection before the Peanuts gang raided Snoopy’s doghouse. There were no stockings, no garland, no mini villages or other decorations brought out for the occasion—just the tree. In my eyes it fit perfectly.

Daytime was spent mostly outdoors. My dad would always help Paw with any small projects around the farm. We would often take Paw’s pickup truck or sometimes his tractor out to the pasture. I learned to drive in that old Chevy truck, at the ripe old age of 12. I also loved to play in his chicken house—a massive (to me, at least) 36 x 350-foot structure where he raised thousands of both broilers and pullets for Purina Farms.

When my 4 cousins (all boys) came to visit, football, wrestling, and building forts in Paw’s hayloft was the order of the day. I know in hindsight that Paw must have hated what we did to the hayloft, but he never chided us for it.

Meals on the farm were consistently familiar. Breakfast was always scratch-made biscuits with “soppin’ syrup” (table syrup) and butter. Lunch was usually a sandwich. Maw and Paw loved banana sandwiches. My favorite was always a toasted cheese, with the cheese browned and toasty on the top. Of course, an RC Cola kept me hydrated at lunch. Dinner presented the best the farm had to offer: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, crowder peas or green beans, fried okra, and creamed corn were regular staples.

The dinner table became life’s centerpiece during these visits. Conversation was always lively and touched all aspects of life, from who had recently gotten married or had children to how older relatives and friends were faring in their advancing years. Everything in-between got thrown into the mix as well. School, work, politics, church, social events, TV shows, good stories, and general gossip and rumors—it all got blended into a social salad that was never hurtful, heated, or argumentative. The family bonds of love kept us closely knit, even if you didn’t always see eye to eye. That, more than anything else, is what made Christmas on the farm so special to me.

I have caught myself of late longing for those days, and wishing I could somehow relive those moments. No mobile phones or tablets like the one I’m presently using. No computers or Internet. No instant access to impersonal media or raw data. Instead, real interaction with live human beings. An actual connection with another person, where you could look in their eyes and sense their emotions. Now we live in a time of incredible technological achievement. As advanced as we are, I hope we’re intelligent enough to not ignore the things that truly matter in this most special time of year.