‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hills,
Not a loom was a’ weaving, not even Cone Mills.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
To be filled with raw denim and heritage workwear.
Our readers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Red Wings danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
were in our selvedge jammies with the nice slubby nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a tummel,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the trouble.
Due to some eggnog I was less than sober,
But this was no buzz—something here is not kosher!
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
Wow, that eggnog was strong, I never talk this way,
Wait—are those flying reindeer pulling a sleigh?
With a little old driver, with the air of a cad,
(And If I am hallucinating, this isn’t so bad.)
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now, Iron Heart! Now, Levi’s! Now, Freenote and Gustin!
On, Tellason! On, Left Field! On, Nudie and Baldwin!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now fade away! Fade away! Fade away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, I almost went mental,
I screamed, “Careful up there—this is a rental!”
He was dressed all in denim, and can you blame the man?
His clothes were from Asia, looked like Pure Blue Japan.
A cool pair of boots he had on his feet,
The leather was Horween, broken-in oh so sweet.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His pockets were bulging with cool Everyday Carry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the whiskers on his jeans were as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
I could tell from the smell the pipe held a rare bounty,
When he saw I had noticed, he mouthed the words, “Humboldt County.”
He was chubby and plump, kinda’ doughy and pale,
Instead of these cookies, I should have left him some kale.
He wolfed them right down, then his eyes they did say,
“All night I’ve had milk—how about an IPA?”
He spoke not a word, then went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
A big box from Filson ‘neath the tree he did lay,
Plus he promised to get me featured the next Fade Friday!
He sprang to his sleigh, winked and said, “see ya Bub,
And made the indigo stains disappear from my tub!
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Holidays from Heddels, and to all a good-night!”