In the late forties and early fifties all my grandparents' children would come home to the farm where they were born and grew up for at least Christmas - most of them made it for the other holidays, too - but Christmas was the big one. Gas was cheap, only about fifteen cents a gallon, and the passenger train ran from Arizona and Kansas with reasonable fares. It always made for a big group - seven sons and daughters, each with a spouse, and at that time about ten grandkids - later it would be seventeen.

In about 1952 one of my boy cousins from south Texas got the dream present - you know, that BB gun no one got because you would be sure to put your eye out with it. We always played around brush and water. We fished catfish out of the pond, and we tracked the wild beasts - rabbits mostly. That winter Junior (the cousin who got the coveted prize BB gun) went far and wide in search of big game. He did manage to find and kill a skunk. He skinned it out way out in a field, and hung the hide up on the back side of the barn to dry. No one knew - I guess he wasn't standing close enough when the skunk sprayed its dying farewell, because he didn't give away a telltale aroma.

Christmas was wonderful that year, as always. Everyone assured everyone else they got exactly what they wanted. The blanket or the electric coffee pot was just what they had been longing for. All the grandkids got a silver dollar from Granddaddy. My other boy cousin, Billy, and I knew that Junior had for sure gotten exactly what he wanted - and exactly what we wanted! Tom, the evil turkey that liked to peck little kids in the back of the head, had gotten his just reward and made a fine Christmas dinner. The holiday wound down, and all began packing for the return to their various homes.

Aunt Opal and Uncle Fred were driven to the depot to head for Arizona on the train pulled by a huge, black engine that had wheels taller than I was and chuffed huge puffs of ominous steam. The other aunts and uncles headed out in their various autos, cousins waving out the back window until they could no longer be seen. The last to pull out were Junior's folks, headed for south Texas. Everyone commented that there was a faint whiff of skunk on the air. Grandmother wondered if there was one bothering around the hen house. She said she'd check after everyone left. Junior stoutly denied smelling anything.

The trip to Texas was not uneventful. Aunt Joan complained of that skunk smell across the Red River and for at least a hundred miles into Texas, before Uncle Doug finally agreed to stop and see if he'd run over one. When he got out to check the skunk smell was much stronger from the rear of the car, but he couldn't see any giblets of carcass anywhere on the wheels or undercarriage. He finally decided to open the trunk, as that seemed to be the strongest source of the offensive odor. He was nearly knocked off his feet when he did - the smell had become very powerful. He proceeded to unpack the trunk, and came at last on the offending skunk hide - secreted deep below the suitcases and boxes of Christmas presents.

I think perhaps Junior wished he had put an eye out with that BB gun - it would have been less painful than seeing his prize trophy left disdainfully at the side of the road on the Texas prairie, not to mention the spanking he got.