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Night of the Living Dead (1968)

Remember when Christmas was filled with a spirit of love and compassion for all? This was a time when even non-Christians shared our enthusiasm, and had no problems with access us a "Merry Christmas".

These were simpler times. I do not remember arguments about equal rights for all births to display, and it was OK to Christmas tree at school.

A family came together for their delicious food and old stories. We all have consumed enormous amounts of energy on shopping, decorating and cook. The harder we worked, the greater our reward.

I am 61 years old and I remember the gifts of my childhood favorite. I lived on a farm in Aurora, Oregon. It was the Christmas of 1960, and my grandfather bought me a set of traps. Never in my life I had all these excited about a Christmas present. We open our presents on Christmas Eve (family tradition). This meant I had to wait until tomorrow to go catch.

All I could think about that night was represented to me what the pitfalls. These were no toys. These pitfalls were the beginning of the trade and independence in my life. With the money I could make out the furs, my life was changing.

It was a two miles walk to the Pudding River, sometimes you could catch a ride with your thumb, but there was not much traffic at 5am. It was cold and wet that morning, but my enthusiasm kept me warm.

I finished my last body falls around 6:30 and home line for breakfast. My grandfather had shared all his fishing secrets, like your positioning are just above the waterline. This assured that the prey would fall into the water and drown, before a chance to chew its own leg had (I hear people screaming PETA).

If you would think, I slept very little the next night. What would I in my traps? My grandparents were still staying with us for the holidays, so I could pull grandpa my first show. He would also are there to help me prep the pelts.

As usual, it was cold and raining when I went to the River. I had to lie on the floor to slide under the electric Barb Wire fence. This was the only way back to the pond where my trap line was located. The excitement was overwhelming by the time I reached my first fall. There was, a leading chain deployed in the muddy water. This can only mean one thing. I saw it for one minutes to see if there is any movement. I did not want to draw an angry wild animal. Having assured myself it was safe, I pulled the fall of the water. My God, a dead muskrat without thick legs chewed off (just like grandpa said).

The first five days yield produced muskrats. I was hoping for a kind of a beaver or raccoon, but I was proud of what I had.

When I got home Grandpa showed me how to stretch the skin and fur. It was probably the most quality time I had ever spent with my grandfather. My father did not like him much, and called him stupid Swede (he was the father of my mother).

It appears that not much money in muskrat pelts. I kept running my trap line in the summer, but it was old and begin to interfere with my other chores. I had more money bucking hay or work in the hop fields.

Although my career as a trapper was high end, the relationship between my grandfather and I was stronger than ever. I had a chance to do something for him and his generation learning.

These are the things that make Christmas a very special time for families. I hope in some way we can continue this tradition.

Chuck Bertrand

Night of the Living Dead