by Caleb Nickerson

It was early in the afternoon on a Thursday, and I was in need of a feature story. In the two-plus years as deputy editor at this paper, it was a situation I’d faced many times before, but had become no less daunting.
Like manna from heaven, a message appeared in my inbox when I returned from lunch. It turned out to be from Otter Lake councillor Desiree Tremblay-Giroux, inviting me to participate as a judge for their R.A.’s second annual house-decorating contest.
Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to roll around the neighbourhood judging other people for their aesthetic choices, but to be honest, Christmas festivities really aren’t my thing.
I’ve got nothing against folks getting into the spirit, but I’ve never understood the overly-chipper people that seem to live for their Yuletide carols and eggnog, earnestly polishing their nutcrackers and ornaments during the offseason.

I might not utter ‘Bah, humbug’ out loud (yet), but at times the sentiment rings true: all the cheap marketing gimmicks, the corporate holiday tracks blasted at you as soon as Halloween ends, the retail workers with 1,000-yard-stares, they can overshadow some of the more meaningful aspects of the season.
You could probably trace my evolution into a moon-faced Ebenezer Scrooge back to my formative years.
One of my earliest Christmas memories is from the beginning of elementary school when I tried in vain to convince my classmates on the playground that Santa wasn’t real, and that their parents were responsible for the gifts under the tree.
Yep, I was that kid.
It wasn’t malicious, just something I thought they should know. Despite such incredible tact, my peers didn’t take the news well. Looking back, I’m surprised I wasn’t bullied more during this time period.
With all this in mind, I agreed to meet Desiree later that evening for a tour of Otter Lake. Maybe this would be the immersion therapy I would need to put aside my petty holiday grievances and get into the spirit. If that didn’t work, I would be attending the Quyon Pastoral Charge’s Home tour a few days later, which would probably do the trick.
We met up at the R.A. and split into two vehicles. I ended up riding with Desiree, Sylvie Lemay and Kathleen Gauthier in the lead car. We were given a spreadsheet to evaluate each home on a variety of categories like theme, originality and overall concept.
With 26 houses on the list, the pace was brisk. The ladies and I swapped stories, cracked wise and wagered on how many logging trucks we would meet on the road.
The judging was tricky because it was so subjective. The stakes were high, and in between the jovial conversations in the vehicle, there were some difficult choices to be made. Should you score low in the beginning in case there are better houses at the end? What separates an eight in theme from a seven? Which inflatable decoration is more original: a festive dinosaur or SpongeBob popping out of a present?
These people had obviously gone to great lengths to spruce up their neighbourhood, and I tried to match their enthusiasm in my rigorous assessments. The community spirit seemed to be rubbing off on me.
The winners were announced at the municipality’s tree-lighting ceremony on Dec. 1. First prize was awarded to Richard and Crystal Lance, second to Anita Lafleur and third to Daniel Blaskie.
The next step of my Christmas spirit immersion therapy happened on Monday and was about as different as you could get. Instead of cruising around the neighbourhood with a gang, I did the Quyon tour on my own.
Put on by the local pastoral charge, the event is a long-standing tradition in the community. Five homes opened their doors to a herd of visitors over the course of the evening, many for the first time and each had their own twist on holiday decorations.
From homemade ornaments to model trains with snowy miniature scenery, festive table settings and even an animatronic Santa Claus, the tour had it all. As I drove around I was struck by how laid back the participants were about inviting dozens of people to inspect their home over the course of the evening.
I asked a few and the response I got was classic small-town Canada: “We already know most of them anyway.”
That right there is the wholesome, holiday feeling I signed up for. Everyone was having a grand old time and the festive energy was infectious.
While I might not be stringing garland around my apartment this year, the good folks of the Pontiac certainly grew my Grinch heart by at least three sizes, and I thank them.