CHRISTMAS

An essay that was first published in the December 1944 issue of Arizona Highways.

EDITOR'S NOTE: By December 1944, at the height of World War II, our editor and art director had stepped away from the magazine to join the war effort - Raymond Carlson had enlisted in the Marines, and George Avey had gone to work for the Navy. In their absence, our interim editor, Bert Campbell, ran an essay by a longtime contributor. It was, in part, a tribute to the men and women fighting overseas. Nearly eight decades later, there's still instability in the world, and so many men and women will be away from home for the holidays, serving their respective countries. This essay is dedicated to them, and to their colleagues whom we have lost.

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS WILL REIGN IN ARIZONA, this year of our Lord 1944, from the pine-laden hills and snowcapped peaks of the highlands to the orange-blossom-scented lowlands. On the slopes of the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff, and Mount Mingus near Prescott, skiers will glide over the inviting trails and call a "Merry Christmas" to their fellow enthusiasts, while at the Grand Canyon, the yule log will blaze merrily. On the great highland plains, cattlemen will sit by open fires in their comfortable homes and hold family festival, while under the canopy of stars, a lonely herder will watch the heavens, unconsciously listening for a song on the wind, and scientists will scan the firmament for new stars and constellations through the great telescope at Mount Lowell. From the mines and smelters, workmen will return home from hours of toil to hear the peal of Christmas chimes, and on the [Tohono O'odham Nation], faithful Indians will crowd ancient San Xavier for the Christmas Mass. On the desert, a "sourdough" will pause and look upon the melancholy countenance of his pack burro a far-off brother of the one who did homage