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A horse-drawn Christmas I distinctly remember every Christmas Eve from 1954 to 1958. My neighbor and very best friend in the whole world, Leslie Sherman, and I were allowed to open one gift each that night as our parents enjoyed their traditional get-together. We always chose each other's gift. We were both horse-crazy so naturally it was some equine-related present that we both secretly wished we could keep for ourselves. Now, four decades later and hundreds of miles apart, we still reserve that night for opening each other's gifts. And though we can't be together on Christmas Eve, we think we have found the next best thing. Every year we wrap up each other's gifts and bundle ourselves up. I head north, Leslie heads south, and we rendezvous for a day in Woodstock, Vt., at their annual horse and carriage parade. Woodstock is the quintessential Vermont village. Add a little snow, a few icicles, and a fire in the huge welcoming fireplace of the Woodstock Inn, and the town becomes absolutely magical. At precisely 2 p.m. the air fills with the sounds of hundreds of antique sleigh bells, snorting horses, and old-fashioned community caroling as upwards of 50 horses, riders, carriages, and sleighs start circling the village green, snow crunching beneath 200 polished hooves. Horses and riders (and even dogs!) are all decked out in red and green. Parade-goers vote for their favorite parade participants as they trot round and round the green followed by a dapper tuxedo-clad clean-up man on Rollerblades. Leslie and I drink hot chocolate from a thermos and bicker over which horse is the prettiest. After the parade, we stroll to the Congregational Church. There, we thaw out listening to the wonderful Revere Hand Bell Choir. With the sweet smell of horse and harness leather still in our noses and our Christmas Eve surprises safely in our packs, we silently reflect upon our 40-plus years of friendship, the excitement of Christmas past, and the joy of Christmas present. KATHLEEN A. VICKERY Manomet

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