FOREWORD, PART ONE, CHAPTER 1
Down the Hole in the Butter-Brickle Floor
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Gingerland is based on stories told to me by my grandmother, Dorothy Sandburg. In honor of that oral tradition, this book is not intended to be read by children, but to them by a parent or beloved adult.
To fulfill this intent to best effect, I would humbly suggest that the reader initiate this story at bedtime on December 21st and deliver each of its four Parts, one per night, to conclude with the final part, “The Great Unveiling” on Christmas Eve.
~ P. J. Hummel Lake Winibigoshish, MN July, 1953
CHAPTER 1
Once upon a time, there was a place called Gingerland, an enchanted winter wonderland punctuated by gumdrop trees, tall pines of green icing, groomed slopes of snowy white powdered sugar—perfect for sledding and skiing—and shaved cocoa hiking trails meandering up seven low hills crowned with rustic cinnamon stick gazebos.
The rolling slopes embraced a fathomless lake of the purest, crystal-blue molten sugar, turquoise shallows plunging to dark cobalt in its depths. And rising majestically above the lake upon a stout foundation of rock candy was the Gingerland Mountain House, five stories high, the main building connected to two angled wings, its gingerbread cookie walls, turrets and clock-tower ascending to peaked roofs shingled with slate-gray Necco wafers.
From the vantage of the farthest gazebo atop the highest hill, three gingerbread kids, Holly, Nicholas and Baby Gem Sugarplum, gazed happily down at the dozens of gingerbread families ice-skating, snowshoeing, sledding and snowball-fighting far below; gingerbread grandparents sipping hot cider on the broad decks and terraces and gingerbread couples strolling the promenades of the Mountain House.
“Didn’t I tell you this hike would be worth it?” asked Holly.
“It is a nice view,” admitted Nicholas, “though I’d much rather be down there playing with the others.” Shivering, he briefly fixated on the warm amber light spilling from dozens of tiny windows in the Mountain House, a few Ginger-folk peering out to enjoy the groups of gingerbread carolers.
“I do love Christmas,” sighed Nicholas.
“It’s a good thing you do,” replied Holly, “because it’s always Christmas in Gingerland.”
“Yes,” said Nicholas, “Isn’t that great?”
Holly sniffed, rolled her eyes and muttered, “A little variety might be nice.”
“What?!”exclaimed Nicholas. “Now you don’t like Christmas?!” He shook his head and muttered, “Just when I thought you couldn’t be more weird...”