Christmas Chronicles 1.8 - Pine Boughs

Summary

Podcast Summary: Harold's Old Time Radio

Episode: Christmas Chronicles 1.8 – Pine Boughs
Host: Harolds Old Time Radio
Written and Performed by: Tim Slover
Date: December 6, 2025

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Overview

This episode presents the first installment of "The Christmas Chronicles," a dramatic reading written and performed by Tim Slover. It promises a magical retelling of the true history of Santa Claus, blending nostalgic Christmas imagery with enchanting, original storytelling. In "Pine Boughs," a simple quest for holiday greenery on a snowy mountain road evolves into a mystical adventure involving a supernatural sleigh chase, an encounter with despair, and the discovery of a mysterious book that holds the secrets of Santa Claus.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Breakdown

1. Setting the Scene: The Quest for Pine Boughs

• [02:39-04:20] The narrator describes a picturesque Rocky Mountain town in the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. He volunteers to fetch pine boughs for Christmas decorating after his family playfully refuses.
• Tone: Light, wry, and self-deprecating, with comedic jabs at family holiday preparations and the “sacrifice” of braving snow alone.

2. The Mountain Adventure

• [04:20-06:25] He drives farther up the mountain than usual, drawn by the invigorating winter air. While distracted by the magical atmosphere, he misjudges the snowy road and gets the car stuck.
• Atmosphere: Evocative and magical; the strong personification of the landscape and hints of wonder.

Notable Quote:

“If you start singing to trees, you risk them singing back, and then you have to reassess your whole system of thought.”
— Tim Slover, [04:04]

3. The Supernatural Encounter

• [07:29-08:36] Reaching a hilltop, the narrator witnesses a dramatic collision of sunlight and storm clouds, feeling that “anything, absolutely anything, might happen.”

• A silvery, rhythmic jingling sound (harness bells) heralds the arrival of an extraordinary sleigh.

• [10:32-14:16] The magical sleigh appears:

  • Pulled by a scarlet reindeer with silver harness bells.
  • Driven by a young man who seems to glow faintly—later revealed as Professor Wyatt.
  • Both appear pursued and in distress, attempting to escape a threat by entering a mysterious, ice-covered road that materializes with two holly bushes, scented with peppermint, marking its entrance.

Notable Quotes:

“The harness bells were around the neck of a small reindeer with graceful two point antlers, and the reindeer's coat glowed red… actually deep vivid scarlet.”
— Tim Slover, [10:44]

“They were trying to get onto a road that a moment before did not exist.”
— Tim Slover, [12:25]

4. A Taste of Hopelessness

• [16:20-18:19] After the magical sleigh departs, a “grayness” (an evil entity) engulfs the narrator. The description becomes chilling and existential:
  • The gray cloud drains color, life, and hope.
  • The narrator is overwhelmed by despair and “unable to believe that anything existed outside the shape which engulfed me.”
• He escapes only when the scent of peppermint from a sprig of holly (fallen from the sleigh's mishap) revives him, as he clutches a mysterious green book that also fell onto the snow.

Notable Quotes:

“It was hard to breathe and exertion just to keep my heart beating. And just as the grayness sapped the world of color, so it bled it dry of hope.”
— Tim Slover, [16:40]

"I now believe there is something worse than dying. It is hopelessness, because complete and utter hopelessness makes you want to die..."
— Tim Slover, [18:19]

5. Recovery and Mysteries

• [20:42-21:29] Upon regaining himself, the narrator discovers his car is mysteriously unstuck and filled with beautifully tied pine boughs and a card reading “Merry Christmas.”
• He takes the green leather book, which he cannot read, back home.

6. The Book’s Magic & The Hook for the Series

• [21:45-24:06] The book is indecipherable until he places his thumb on a print engraved on the title page. The book then magically translates itself, revealing its title:
  • “The Green Book, being the true and authorized chronicle of Klaus, sometimes styled Father Christmas, per Noel, Santa Claus, and sundry other names, including, wrongly, St Nicholas.”
  • Authored by Dunstan Wyatt, court historian.

Notable Quote:

“It was as though the book learned who I was from my thumbprint and adjusted its language accordingly.”
— Tim Slover, [24:06]

7. A Call to Adventure

• [25:12-27:12] The narrator grapples with disbelief and wonder, ready to uncover the “biography of someone who doesn’t exist.” He reads the entire book overnight, only for it to disappear, replaced with a note:

  • “We needed this back… but don’t worry, you’ll remember every word. Tell the world before it’s too late. Yours sincerely, Dunstan.”

• The episode closes with the narrator addressing the audience, inviting them to join him in learning the “true history of Santa Claus.”

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On magic and delight:

  “Knowledge is responsibility, all right. But in this case, it can also, if you let it, be sheer delight.”
  — Tim Slover, [02:11]

• On despair:

  “Complete and utter hopelessness makes you want to die, and that must be worse than dying.”
  — Tim Slover, [18:19]

• On the call to adventure:

  "Tell the world before it’s too late. Yours sincerely, Dunstan."
  — Note found by the narrator, [27:00]

• Invitation to the listener:

  “I think I feel brave enough. Do you?... Are you ready? You are about to hear the true history of Santa Claus.”
  — Tim Slover, [27:12]

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• Narrator sets out for pine boughs – [02:39]
• Gets car stuck; climbs the ridge – [06:25]
• Magical sleigh and reindeer appear – [10:32]
• Chased by the grayness (despair) – [16:20]
• Book and holly save the narrator – [18:19]
• Book reveals Santa Claus’s true history – [24:34]
• Note from Dunstan / setup for the series – [27:00]

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Takeaway

“Pine Boughs” is an evocative and atmospheric opening to The Christmas Chronicles series, blending humor, warmth, holiday nostalgia, and fantasy. Through its rich storytelling and mysterious events, the episode primes listeners for an epic reimagining of the origins and adventures of Santa Claus—inviting them along on a journey that promises delight, hope, and enchantment.

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Next Episode Tease:
The series continues with "Klaus the Carpenter," promising more secrets from the Green Book and the unfolding “true” story of Santa Claus.

Transcript

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[Classical89 KBYU FM Announcer]

Classical89kbyufm presents the Christmas Chronicles an exclusive dramatic reading written by Tim Slover, this eight part series captures the magic and mystery of everyone's favorite yuletide character, revealing a true and complete history of Santa Claus. Episode 1 Pine Boughs is performed by the author. In this episode, a search for Christmas pine boughs leads to a stuck car, an encounter with evil, and the discovery of a book.

[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

I heard the sound even through the wind that had suddenly kicked up, but it didn't make any sense and I couldn't see what was making it. I thought I was alone on that wintry mountain. The sunset was just beginning to paint the snow gold, and coming up over a gilded rise through a stand of white pine was this sound.

So I wasn't alone. Someone or something was approaching fast, and to my utter astonishment, that something was making the unmistakable sound of.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I want to tell what happened precisely and in the right order, so you'll have the best chance to make up your mind about it. Because, make no mistake, that's what you're being called on to do. Decide. Once you know what I now know, you're going to have to figure out what to do about it. If you don't feel up to that task, well, you might want to stop listening right now. But I wouldn't. Knowledge is responsibility, all right. But in this case it can also, if you let it be sheer delight.

The events happened last year in that magical, occasionally peaceful, usually mad dash season between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Despite our fervent September resolutions, late November found all of us without our Christmas shopping, Christmas decorating, Christmas cards, or Christmas baking done or actually started. But the first skiff of snow had just come to the particular valley of the Rocky Mountains where we live, my wife and me and our two teenaged sons, and we were all in love with the new weather. We felt energized and ready to plunge into Christmas toils. It makes a nice change, my wife said. The boys agreed. I saw my opportunity. Who wants to drive up the mountain and get pine boughs I asked. A certain disheartening silence greeted my invitation, a pause while they invented their plausible excuses. The wife spoke vaguely of golf clubs in need of polishing. A boy had a girl friend to see. Another boy had to meet up with his band. But we need pine boughs, I objected. What about the Advent wreath? What about branches for decorating the front door and the stair railing? You get them, honey, my wife said. You're the one who really loves getting the car stuck, slogging through snow and committing theft on federal land. It was hard to argue with that. So without accompaniment, I pulled on a pair of pack boots, grabbed some gardening gloves and lopping shears, and drove the car clear out of town up into the mountains, following my usual route, just me and an MP3 full of Christmas music.

Usually I drive until the snow on the road, which is never plowed, gets too slippery and snow packed for my old car to keep going safely. Then I drive about a quarter mile further, just because it's so fun to drive on the snow until it's definitely too dangerous to go on. And then I go about another hundred yards, and if I haven't got stuck by then, park on the shoulder of the road. I hike and climb up into the trees until I strike an area isolated enough that even the most overzealous ranger would be unlikely to venture. Then I trudge around cutting until I have about 20 boughs of white pine and Douglas fir and hike back to the car. The whole thing usually takes a couple of hours. Remember, the snow came late on this particular year. That meant the car could go further than usual before the road got too dangerous. Before long, I was up higher than I had ever been. I found myself driving on a ridge with tall fur and bare white aspen pressing close on both sides of the road. On an impulse, I rolled down the window. I don't know why. Maybe to see the trees without a pane of glass in between us. The cold air that rushed in was unusual. It seemed to effervesce like soda water, as though every molecule was dancing. In fact, everything on that ridge seemed so alive that I had a strong impulse to sing a Christmas Carol to the trees as I drove along. But the truth is, if you start singing to trees, you risk them singing back, and then you have to reassess your whole system of thought. So though I was tempted, I refrained. But when you're distracted by fizzy air and potentially musical trees, it's not surprising that your driving might suffer. Before I knew it, I hit a patch of ice and skidded halfway into a ditch past the shoulder of the road.

I was up to my hubcaps in snow, well and truly stuck as I had never been stuck before on a very isolated road, well out of cell phone range and with the sun riding down the sky towards setting. Looking at the car from the outside, I could see that it wasn't going to get unstuck on its own steam or mine. It was tow truck stuck. And since I was out of cell phone range, I was going to have to walk back down the road until I got a signal. And that's when I got the idea which led to everything else. A higher hill crowned with white pine showed itself about 80 yards to the west of where the car was stuck. Don't trek back down the road, I thought. Climb up the ridge and see what you can see. And as a bonus, you'll get a strong signal for your cell phone and you can make your call and get rescued. I didn't question the impulse. I just started hiking.

Once I got to the crest of the hill, I knew I'd made the right decision. I looked out and saw an amazing sight.

To the west. The sun was now dipping towards the horizon, lighting everything in that rich amber that sometimes comes at sunset. But in the east, gray clouds heavy with snow were rolling down from the top of the mountain. A wind came up first, stirring and then tossing the boughs of the trees on the hill. I stood stock still. It was a scene of utter enchantment. The golden sunlight streaming from the west, the gray clouds blowing down from the east, the roar of the wind, the glad, dancing trees. I got the powerful feeling that when those clouds met that sunlight, which would be happening in a moment right where I was standing, anything, absolutely anything, might happen.

That's when I heard the sound. It was rhythmic, silvery. Jing jing jing jing jing jing. And it was coming up on me fast over the slope just as the snow clouds were rolling down from the mountain. Jing jing jing ching jing jing. And now the clouds were upon me, and with them the snow. Big white flakes blowing in with the wind. And when the gray clouds and swirling snow met that amber sunlight, the scene instantaneously transformed. Gold and silver swirled together and intermingled. And despite the snow and the wind, I could see better than I've ever seen in my life. Every needle and tree twig was sharp and clear. The snow on the ground was a dazzling carpet of blue and purple diamonds. Each snowflake racing down from the sky was its own intricately patterned crystalline world.

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[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

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[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

Yes.

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[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

I could have stared at it for hours, but I didn't get the chance. Because now the jing jing jing was actually upon me.

And at last I could see what was making the sound. It was merry silver harness bells, and the harness was around the neck of you will hardly believe me. You will think I'm making up a story. Well, alright, yes, I have been known to make up a story or two, but this isn't one of them. What I'm telling you is the simple truth. The harness bells were around the neck of a small reindeer with graceful two point antlers, and the reindeer's coat glowed red, not orange, which is what we usually mean when we say hair or fur is red, but actually deep vivid scarlet. I didn't learn until later that I was in the presence of a legend. The crimson reindeer was pulling a swift light sleigh which dodged through the trees on its silver runners with great nimbleness and speed.

I only caught a glimpse of its driver, but he looked like a perfectly ordinary young man, except that he, like the reindeer, seemed to give off a fair faint light of his own. He held no reins. He simply clutched the bench where he sat as the sleigh raced on. His expression, if I read it right, in the split second I saw it, was one of worry and dread. Hurry, I heard him say. It's right behind us and they can't anchor the road for more than a moment. And then the reindeer said, but now how can I report to you what a reindeer said? You won't believe me. You may already be thinking I was drunk up on that mountain ridge, but I've never had a drop stronger than chocolate milk in my life. So you must make of it what you will when I tell you that, the reindeer said, and he panted as he said it. I would rather stand and fight, Professor Wyatt. No, said the professor, and he seemed to very alarmed. Not this time. We're wanted at the castle. Then the sleigh flashed past. I spun around to watch it go. I'm sure neither reindeer nor its occupants saw me, but as they drove with single minded concentration, not two yards away from me, they suddenly made a sharp left turn. Too sharp. Trying to get onto Look, I'm going to be revealing so many wonders over the course of this account that you might just as well get used to contemplating them. I've had to. So I shall stop hesitating and trying to prepare you for the incredible. I'll just assume you're keeping up. They were trying to get onto a road that a moment before did not exist. At least I had not seen it. Of course I was intent on looking at snowflakes and scarlet reindeer, so I might have missed it. It might have been there all along, but I don't think so. I I believe it appeared just as this Professor Wyatt and the reindeer were trying to enter it. The road was very steep, about 8ft wide, made of a single sheet of white ice as smooth as a mirror, and led up about 30 yards directly into the swirl of silver cloud and golden light overhead. At its foot were two neatly trimmed variegated holly bushes in in silver pots, one on each side of the road. On each pot was etched a reindeer rampant and a star. The scent of peppermint wafted from the holly bushes.

Inhaling it, I felt as though I wanted to run a marathon and then swim the Pacific Ocean. Meanwhile, the sleigh was trying desperately to get onto the road, but it was approaching it at too acute an angle. Look out. Shouted Professor Wyatt. You're missing the entrance. We'll be stranded. I know what I'm doing. Panted the reindeer. And he did. He gritted his teeth, got a hoof between the holly bushes, pivoted smartly on it, and swung onto the road.

The sleigh curse careened wide behind the reindeer. A runner came off the ground, sliced off a sprig of the left hand bush without knocking over its pot, and then both runners slammed down onto the road. As the reindeer bounded up its steep shining slope. That jolt sent a something bouncing out of the sleigh and onto the road. It was solid and heavy and very close to the dimensions of the Oxford English Dictionary Compact edition. It slid down 11ft of road, and stopped almost right at my feet. Well done. Shouted the professor as they disappeared up the road into the clouds and out of sight.

Neither man nor beast noticed that the something had fallen from their sleigh. The moment they were gone, the road began to lose its solidity. For an instant it flickered like a fluorescent light struggling to come on. And then, with a deep roll of thunder, it disappeared.

And so did the holly bushes. Except for one sprig. Now everything changed back. In an instant.

The extraordinary light dimmed as the sun dipped below the western horizon. The snow stopped falling, the air grew very chill, and I zipped my coat up to my throat. I suddenly felt very tired, but there was no time to relax, because before I even had time to think, it was on top of me. Even now, from a comforting distance in time a As I contemplate what happened next, it makes me shudder. What I can only describe as a grayness came rushing up to me, flying over the same path the sleigh had just run. The grayness had edges, and its shape was a roiling, churning storm cloud with a vortex at its center. In a moment it was upon me, and I found myself engulfed in clammy coldness. I could still see the world from inside the gray cloud, but everything I looked at was drained of all color and life. It was hard to breathe and exertion just to keep my heart beating. And just as the grayness sapped the world of color, so it bled it dry of hope. When I tried to think of good things, they all seemed mockeries, and I found I couldn't believe in anything. I doubted now I had ever seen a slow and erode. Did my wife love me? Was Christmas coming, and after it, a new year to look forward to? No. The future was a bleak and featureless misery as far as my mind could look ahead. And in a moment I lost the ability even to do that. There was no future, no past, just the endless, depressing torment of the gray present. And then, most horrible of all, I found myself unable even to believe that anything existed outside the shape which engulfed me. It wasn't a shape at all, really. It was the whole world, the universe, all there was.

I now believe there is something worse than dying. It is hopelessness, because complete and utter hopelessness makes you want to die, and that must be worse than dying. I sank to my knees and then fell on my face, sightless, filled to the brim with despair and ready to give in. But then, not quite sightless. By luck, if you believe in Such ideas. I had fallen in view of the something which had fallen from the sleigh. The overpowering greyness had come so quickly after it had slid to my feet that. That I had forgotten it. Now there it lay, along with the sprig of holly, still giving off its faint whiff of peppermint. It was the peppermint which saved me. It cleared my head a little and lessened the grip of the cloud. I clutched the holly and brought it close to my face, breathing in its fragrance. That gave me the strength to reach out for the something. It was a large leather bound green book in a matching slipcover. And as my fingers touched its pebbly texture, the grayness left me. Despair left me too, melting away as a nightmare does in morning sunlight. Hope seeped back in. Of course, Christmas was coming, and New Year's after that. And as for my wife, she loved me even after I made caramel apples on the couch last Halloween while I was watching a football game. As for the gray cloud, it rushed on.

I was not its object after all, though it had felt like an eternity. All that it had made me feel had happened in a split second as it passed over me. Its real purpose was to get onto the road before it entirely disappeared. But it was too late. The road was gone. The way was shut. It threw itself against the clouds, but they were to it a stone wall, and it banged against them with a horrible shriek of rage and despair. Then it shot away over the horizon as fast as it had come. A thin moan came from where it disappeared.

I hummed the heavy green book to my chest as I climbed down the cutting in the bank back to where my car was. My plan now was to walk back down the road to get into cell phone range. But I found I didn't have to. There was my car out of the ditch and even turned the right way to drive back down the mountain. A spicy scent made me throw open the lid of the trunk. There were pine boughs in there, tied neatly together at the stems with a silver ribbon. A small card printed in green ink placed on top of them read Merry Christmas.

There was no one home when I got there, and that was fine with me. Much had happened that I didn't understand, and I wasn't ready to talk about it to anyone. Perhaps the book would provide some kind of explanation. I took it into my study and examined.

Was large and beautiful, bound in forest green leather covers with sewn signatures, thick creamy paper and three attached silk bookmarks. The only unfortunate thing about it was that it was unreadable, at least by me. The text was filled with umlauts and accent marks and long words with a sprinkling of strange letters. I took it this was German, Welsh, or some Scandinavian language, but I wasn't really sure. Whatever it was, I couldn't read it. I flipped through the pages. Many were filled with graphs and tables that seemed to indicate production over time of various items. One page, which folded out, seemed to be a contract of some sort, complete with a red wax seal. Several more were devoted to detailed maps of various parts of the world, showing what I took to be wind currents marked out. The first part of the book, however, was of a different character.

It appeared to be a story or history. There were engravings in this section. A boy making a wooden chair, a merry girl sewing a coat, a bearded man with his arm around the neck of a reindeer, a grave cow sitting around a large table.

I flipped back to what was clearly the title page and saw what I had missed before. An engraving of a thumb print in the lower right hand corner. Now it occurred to me that, given the events of the day, if I pressed my thumb onto that print, something extraordinary was likely to happen. I would be plunged deeper into an adventure that was already threatening to overturn my cherished notions of reality. So perhaps I can be forgiven if I hesitated. I shut the book and left the study. I wandered into the kitchen. I ate chips and salsa. I watched the news on tv. That last activity was all it took to make up my mind. I returned to the study, opened the book to the title page, and placed my thumb firmly on the print.

A mild vibration and a warm sensation entered my hand, stayed there for a few moments, and then left. And then the words on the title page formed themselves into something I could read. As simple as that. It was as though the book learned who I was from my thumbprint and adjusted its language accordingly. The title page read as.

The Green Book, being the true and authorized chronicle of Klaus, sometimes styled Father Christmas per Noel, Santa Claus, and sundry other names, including, wrongly, St Nicholas.

Also a record of important recent events of the last few centuries at Castle Noel in the True north, together with production figures and an almanac of Christmas flights, written and compiled by Dunstan Wyatt, ES court historian.

I sat back to assess. Apparently I had in my possession what purported to be a biography of someone who doesn't exist. I had believed in Santa Claus when I was a child, given him up reluctantly when the laughter of other children had proved too strong, and then disregarded him altogether. Santa Claus was made up Santa Claus was just a way for malls to get parents to buy more than they could afford. Santa Claus was, as my boys would say, extremely over. But the reindeer, the sleigh, the road, the early Christmas present of pine boughs and a dislodged car, and the Author, Dunston Wyatt, E.S. whatever that meant. Surely he was the Professor Wyatt who had been on the sleigh. As I thought about these things, something deep within me, something long, pent up and damned, broke loose.

I think it was desire.

So I started to read the Green Book. I read it all night in my study. I fell asleep around dawn after I finished it. When I woke up, I intended to stumble into the bedroom to tell my wife all about what had happened and show her the book. But the book was gone. In its place was a note. We needed this back, it said, but don't worry, you'll remember every word. Tell the world before it's too late. When and if you feel brave enough. Yours sincerely, Dunstan.

I think I feel brave enough. Do you? Because I do remember every word of the Green Book. And I can quote it to you word for word. Are you ready? You are about to hear the true history of Santa Claus.

[Classical89 KBYU FM Announcer]

You have heard Episode 1 Pine Creek Boughs from the Christmas Chronicles performed by Tim Slover. Next time hear Klaus the Carpenter. The Christmas chronicles is an 8 part dramatic reading written by Tim Slover. Music is by Robert Robary. The series producer is Judith Olassen Turney and technical producer is Jackie Tateishi. Promotion by Christine Nakobe. The executive producer is Walter Rudolph. To acquire a CD copy of the Christmas Chronicles as you've heard it and for more information about the Christmas Chronicles, visit classical89.org the Christmas Chronicles is produced by Classical 89 KBYU FM, Provo, Utah in cooperation with the BYU Division of Continuing Education.

[Apollo Sales Representative]

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[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

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[Tim Slover (Narrator/Storyteller)]

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