Ah, in my heck of the woods, it just would not be the holidays without this sign.

And therein lies the tale!

In the mid 1960’s my family moved into a new home in Mountain View, California. On San Rafael Avenue, just off the US-101 Freeway. A nice four bedroom, two bath tract house with a two-car garage, a living room, family room with a master bedroom suite. And it included a space that could be developed as an extra room or covered patio.

My mother is fond of recalling the five years we lived there as being in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Plenty of families with young children. Many servicemen making use of their GI benefits to afford the homes in this tract. And plenty of employment opportunities as Silicon Valley was in it’s early days, with NASA’s Ames Research Center and the Moffet Naval Air Station just across the freeway.

I don’t recall the exact year, but the Christmas season came and some of the neighbors organized a home decorating contest. Just like the one shown in A Charlie Brown Christmas. And the goal was to have every home decorated. To make the neighborhood a holiday destination; a must-see.

Now my dad didn’t exactly have a lot of free time to spend on a project like this. During the week, he was working for ACME Steel producing steel strapping and other packing materials. His commute was a tough one, making the trip from Mountain View to South San Francisco five days a week. With four children at the time, weekends tended to be hectic with occasional visits to grandparents in San Francisco’s Seacliff. There was not a lot of extra time to spend on an effort, not to mention paying for the electricity it would entail.

I don’t know what pushed him in this direction, but he got out a piece of plywood, and painted it plain white. In an olde English script, laid out by hand, the word “Humbug” came to life. When finished, this sign adorned that two-car garage, in defiance to the rest of the neighborhood.

It was an instant hit with some of the neighbors. The organizers of the contest, they were less than amused. One neighbor I never recall seeing or hearing from any time. This may have contributed to that.

In 1970, we moved to a new home in Walnut Creek, where my parents still live today. And just as it did all those years ago, the “Humbug” sign still takes it’s place of honor every Christmas season, above the two-car garage. It’s become a tradition. So much so that when a few years ago, he was late in putting it up, folks in the neighborhood were concerned he was okay. He’s even known by some as the “Humbug” Man.

One of my brothers has taken over the duty of putting the sign in place now, My dad is over 80 and while doing okay, he has been through enough misadventures that involve ladders. So this is a good thing that someone else takes over the responsibility.

It’s been almost 50 Christmases since the sign came to be. The lettering has changed a bit over the years and the lights are still single good sized bulbs. No LED’s or icicle lights added. Traditions, after all.

So, there you have it. The tale of the “Humbug” sign.

Let me leave you with the words of Ebeneezer Scrooge, from the pen of Charles Dickens, that inspired it:

“A merry Christmas, uncle!  God save you!” cried a cheerful voice.  It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.

“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew.  “You don’t mean that, I am sure.”

“I do,” said Scrooge.  “Merry Christmas!  What right have you to be merry?  What reason have you to be merry?  You’re poor enough.”

“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily.  “What right have you to be dismal?  What reason have you to be morose?  You’re rich enough.”

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.”

In many ways, I am right back where I started. Writing, that is…

Over the years, I have been lucky enough to have written for school newspapers, newsletters, press releases, online columns and of course, right here on this very blog.

It’s been a bit of a throw back moment for me in the last few weeks as I have taken time to compose a few items for the Bulletin, published at the Dickens Fair. Published in a style that definitely steps back in time. Printed on a pair of vintage printing presses, using movable type. All laid by hand and lovingly crafted for passers by at the Fair.

A hobby of mine – okay one of many – is to look for information on my ancestors, using various newspaper databases found online.  In particular, I find myself searching through newspapers from the Silver State, dating back as far as my family or people sharing the same surnames found themselves in Nevada. I tend to be amazed at these people coming west to find a life there. The years since have taken me out to visit some of the places these folks lived in. And to be honest, there was not a lot then and there is even less now in some of those places. If you had nothing else but friends and family, I guess you did what you could to survive. No organized support beyond those people. You either made good or you moved on in search of something better.

As an example, let me share the tale of Jonathan Sandon Walker. Born in Bootle, in Cumbria in the northwest of England in 1842, he was one of nine, possibly ten children. He went on to be apprenticed to two trades. That of the stone mason and the brewer. I do not know what led him from England to the Americas, but he came to New York in 1869. From there he made his way to Grass Valley, here in California. A short time later, he was in Eureka, Nevada were silver-lead ore had been discovered as early as 1864. Using his brewing experience, Jonathan ran a series of saloons around the district including at Eureka and Mineral Hill. He was not particularly successful. I believe these “businesses” were little more than tents, as he was burned out and flooded out several times.

But reading the various local newspapers of the day, I get an idea of life in that part of Nevada. Indeed, rugged, but full of amusing incidents as well as tragedies and moments of joy.

Taking more than a bit of inspiration from those early editions, it has been a pleasure writing a column and occasional stories for the Bulletin.

And who knows? Maybe 2016 will find me filling these pages more often. One can only hope…

So, it is coming down the home stretch in 2015. Last page on calendars and all that. Time for a bit of reflection between those holidays and more shopping opportunities, right?

For my part, it is the time when the Dickens Fair comes to San Francisco, bringing the Victorian spirits of Christmas to life. Doing my bit behind the scenes at Cuthbert’s Tea Shoppe gets me into the seasonal frame of mind. And the walk about with everyone in a similar mood and a proper pint or three of a favored beverage does not hurt either…

As another year of circling our sun comes to pass for me, I tend to look back and think on some of the best moments I have enjoyed. Some are with family and friends, personal and private. Others are those kind of stop and just watch things unfold. But all are the kind of events that I would not have missed for anything.

Take for example the scene above. It is a mid-winter afternoon as the sun is setting. Out in the prairie, north of the Sacramento River Delta. A somewhat rare undeveloped bit of the San Francisco Bay Area, if you like. If not for the railroad tracks and fences, a plot of land that is much as it has been for centuries. Undisturbed by plows, or human passing in many ways. Plants and a few animals living as they have for a long time.

And along comes this machine, from a time past. An obsolete technology. At the control of the men who operate it. As it comes to a stop, it lives and breathes. For a few minutes, it sits in this scene, as it once had during its working life. Now retired to a museum, it has resumed duties after sitting in storage for some 30 years.

In this moment, this image captured, it steps back in time. Back now a century to when it was new, bringing people and materials west, to their own adventures. With the tales of families, careers, loves and lives all influenced by that moment.

I only have this single image from that afternoon. The rest of it committed to memory. The sound of steam, exhausting as the air pump worked and the dynamo turned to create electricity for the headlight. Mixing with the sound of the grasses in the breeze, zephyrs at play.

That moment was something special. And I am glad I was there as it happened, as it will never come again. Just one of those times to watch and experience.

Thankful indeed.