Christmas on the Prairie, Circa 1975

From Time to Thyme

By Paula Dunn

That recent spell of frigid temperatures took me back to my first experience working at Conner Prairie 50 years ago. (50 years? YIKES!)

I was a volunteer during their 1975 Christmas celebration. I stood outside the Conner house and directed people toward the Village (aka Prairietown these days) whenever the Conners had too many visitors. 

To say it was cold would be an understatement. On one of the days I worked the temperature was 5 degrees.

I wore long underwear and my Bicentennial dress. That dress wasn’t quite “period,” but nobody could tell because I was bundled up in a hooded cloak my mother made from an army surplus blanket.

I learned a lot about the history of Christmas that year.

For one thing, our Christmas traditions of today don’t go all the way back to 1836, the year that was portrayed on the museum grounds then. Christmas as we know it didn’t begin to be celebrated in this country until the 1840s.

Because of that, the “time portal” at the back door of Conner Prairie’s visitor center had to be temporarily reset from 1836 to 1840, so the grounds could be properly Christmassy.

Each home on the tour reflected the occupants’ backgrounds and their attitudes toward the holiday.

The tour began at the Bush family’s farmstead (the two log cabins north of the Conner house,) where simply staying alive was the main concern. Their Christmas celebration consisted of pausing their regular chores a little early on Christmas Day to exchange simple homemade gifts.

Next, museum visitors went to the more affluent Conner house (unless it was too crowded!) There, they were greeted by the unusual sight of a Christmas tree in the sitting room. Mouth-watering aromas wafted in from the kitchen as the Conners’ cook labored over the 38 different dishes she was preparing to feed the Conners and their guests for Christmas dinner.

The first stop in the village was the Fenton home. The Fentons were Scotch-Irish Presbyterians and they didn’t observe Christmas at all. They considered such celebrations sinful and pagan.

The family of Ben Curtis, one of the blacksmiths, lived in the next house. Coming from New York state, they were familiar with the Dutch stories of St. Nicholas. The Curtis children hung stockings by the chimney on Christmas Eve, hoping to find them filled with toys, fruit and nuts the next morning. Their Christmas Day was celebrated with a big feast.

The Widow Bücher and her children occupied the house across the road from the Curtises. Born a Quaker, the widow regarded Christmas celebrations as “popish,” but since her late husband had been a German Lutheran, she tempered her views to allow holiday treats for the children, including Lebkuchen, the traditional German cookies.

Further down the path, it was pretty much business as usual at the general store except for an effort to finish the account books by the end of the year.

The newest residents of the Village, Dr. and Mrs. Campbell, lived north of the store. Originally from Virginia, Harriet Campbell remembered the Yuletides of her youth as a time of parties and feasting. To celebrate the holiday, she decorated her new home with greenery and laid out an impressive spread for her guests to feast upon while being entertained by fiddlers and music from Harriet’s prized piano.

The final stop was the school, where classes were being held as usual. The teacher passed out Moravian ginger cookies to all her “students,” hoping to convince them to refrain from attempting the prank called “barring the master.” That was an old country custom in which students would lock their schoolmaster or schoolmistress out of the schoolhouse in order to avoid being forced to attend class on Christmas.

Thanks to Pam Ferber and the Dancing Librarian for jogging my memory.

Merry Christmas!

Paula Dunn’s From Time to Thyme column appears on Wednesdays in The Times. Because of the Christmas holiday this week, it was moved to Monday. You can contact Paula at younggardenerfriend@gmail.com