Christmas Not in Kansas

22 December 2005—This is the time of year when advertisers, store managers, neighbours, strangers, and any number of organisations and people start sending cards, communicating messages, and passing wishes that involve snow and snowmen, holly, mistletoe, Christmas trees, singing White Christmas and Let It Snow, visiting department stores to chat with overweight men dressed in wool and fur…but wait a minute! As I write, it is nearly 102 degrees outside. If I were in the city, rather than the country, I’d be at one of Perth’s beaches, slathered in sunscreen (because I’ve been burned in less than 30 minutes), and splashing in the Indian Ocean. It’s summer, snows only in the Stirling Ranges south of here on occasion, and any obese man in a big red suit would drop from heat stroke in no time.

The Northern Hemisphere traditions of the Silly Season were carried here to Australia, along with meagre possessions, household goods, leg irons, or whatever transported prisoners and immigrants were carrying. They found nomadic natives that wore very little, if anything at all. They tried to have their Christmas ham, figgy pudding, roast turkey and hot drinks, but it wasn’t very pleasant. As the years passed, more and more Australians stopped pining for a white Christmas. They dubbed a local (Western Australian) tree that blooms brilliant gold around December a ‘Christmas tree’ (Nuytsia floribunda)—related to the mistletoe, oddly enough. Since it was too hot to run an oven all day, many Australians enjoyed a Christmas barbecue, having left Santa Claus a bottle of beer the night before. Yard games, swimming in the family pool, visiting the beach, picnicking, and enjoying the summer’s day became more common.

Last Friday night, I was driving home about 6.30 in the evening. Having just left Kalgoorlie’s CBD, I passed between the Kalgoorlie Bowling Club and the women’s bowling club across the street. That’s lawn bowls. Both clubs had families and friends gathered on the greens, enjoying the balmy summer’s night. Just up the street, two local cricket teams were playing at the local sports oval. People were walking their dogs (or themselves); others were driving through the drive-through liquor stores to pick up a bottle of their favourite for the weekend. Some had stopped at the local market to pick up one or two items for evening tea—maybe some ice cream.

Having lived in Florida and Arkansas when I resided in the US, I’m used to Christmases without snow. I did visit Iowa in January/February 2005, and experienced two or three heavy snows, which I volunteered to shovel for my dad. It was just nature’s way of reminding me that I don’t miss that stuff at all! But it is moments like last Friday, with the lawn bowls and the cricket on a warm December summer’s eve that remind me—I’m not in Kansas (or Arkansas) anymore.

So the next time you Northern Hemisphere types make up your Christmas card list—snail mail or email—remember, the thought of parkas, fireplaces, mittens, hot chocolate, and frosty window panes makes us laugh…if not a little perspired. Perhaps you’d consider tossing some jumbo prawns on the barbie, opening a cold lager, and singing Rolf Harris’ Six White Boomers. (Boomers are big kangaroos). By the way, White Christmas is a candy-like sweet that is very yummy. Oh! And don’t forget the Pavlova!

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