Annual Hearth's Warming Blog 2016 - Hearth's Warming Horseshoes · 5:26am Dec 23rd, 2016
It was a couple weeks before Hearth’s Warming Eve, and I wasn’t exactly feeling very festive. The word on the streets in Canterlot was that somepony had royally messed something up at the weather factory in Cloudsdale. The early result had been a major dumping of snow everywhere from Canterlot to the Mild West, but the weather ponies had proclaimed that if there was to be any snow for the holiday at all, they would have to build up their reserves again and save them until a couple of days before. It would also keep the trains running on schedule, or so they claimed. I wasn’t really buying it. That said, I’ve never been a big fan of snow anyway, so having a few balmy days before heading over the river and through the woods to Auntie Applesauce’s house wasn’t something I was complaining about. It just wasn’t exactly helping my holiday spirit, either. Something about playing songs about a winter wonderland wasn’t working when there was still so much green. Hay, none of our usual caroling crew even bothered to bundle up because it was so warm.
Sometimes I worry that the group is getting smaller every year. It’s been a tradition, going on for over fifteen years, with our biggest heyday back just before Princess Luna returned. I think we had close to fifty ponies out wassailing with us that year. We took our usual route, meeting in Ponyville at Sugarcube Corner, where Mister and Missus Cake keep all of the copies of the carols. Believe it or not, when we had first started, the booklets had come from Ponyville’s Foal Free Press. I don’t know why, but the editor Namby Pamby had thought it would be a good idea to put them in as an insert one year, and Vinyl Scratch had saved a bunch of them afterward. Only a couple of those original booklets remained, the rest had needed to be reprinted after years of use and abuse from ponies trying to read them while wearing muddy boots among other things.
It’s almost scary to see how much the group has changed since I first joined up. Some ponies like my cousin Pitch stopped going when they had foals. Others added their foals into the mix like the Cakes. The twins are so grown up now. Heh. Pound Cake’s voice finally changed, so he sang baritone instead of treble this year. One thing that never seems to change is somepony asking me why I’m not joining the basses. It’s the same lame joke that’s followed me since I got my cutie mark. Obviously I didn’t get my mark for my vocal range, although I do have a fair contralto. On a related note, we’ve never been able to coax Fluttershy to come out with us, although we have sang for her at her cottage a number of times. She insists that she gets too self conscious when she sings and prefers listening to us instead. It’s a shame, because she has such a beautiful voice… both voices if you count “Flutterguy,” or so Pinkie Pie told me.
One pony who is always on our list to visit is Mr. Waddle. He knows that we’re coming... I mean, it’s always traditionally on the same day of the year, but he always acts surprised anyway, throwing his hooves up and smiling the biggest smile anypony could ever have.
“I didn’t know you whippersnappers were going to be by this year… I would have worn my good tie,” he always says. Then he brings out a tray of cookies or a bowl of candy that he “just had hanging around.” Most houses we stop at get a single carol request before we move on. Mr. Waddle is entitled to three. He’s completely tone deaf, but he belts out his favorites with such gusto that it’s hard not to smile along. It’s the Hearth’s Warming Spirit that really counts, right?
Mr. Waddle is always the second to last home on our list. The final stop on our grand tour is the home of Cotton Cloudy and Foggy Fleece (affectionately known in some circles as Nana Knits because of her cutie mark). Cloudy and I have been acquaintances for many years now, dating back to our early days playing together with the Tiny Ewes Oom-pah band. Nana is Cloudy’s grandmother and legal guardian. You see, back before the infamous summer I spent in Ponyville (a story for another time), there was a major snowstorm in Ponyville that cost the lives of some of the town’s finest. Applejack’s parents were two of them, and Cloudy’s parents were two others. Our caroling tradition could just as easily have made its final stop at Sweet Apple Acres, but instead-- I suppose you could call it fate or you could call it something else, whatever works for you-- it ended up at Nana’s house instead. It’s not like the Apples are bitter or anything over some little tradition. Hay, Apple Bloom comes caroling with us more often than not herself. It’s just how it turned out. Like I said, it started before I was a regular member of the group anyway, so it’s not like I had any say in it.
Once we get to Nana’s and Cloudy’s house, the night really begins. Nana always says that it isn’t really Hearth’s Warming until we show up. Most years, I find it difficult to disagree with her especially during heat waves like the one we’re having this year. She’s always gone to great lengths to have a good spread for us. Sure, we never know how many are going to show up, although the largest crowd that made it all the way to her house from Canterlot was maybe twenty ponies at best, so she says it’s better to be prepared than run out of wassail.
Then we would eat, drink, and sing. This year, Cotton Cloudy reminisced about the days when this used to be the one night where she could stay up until the last guest left, which was usually pretty late. She’s been accepted into the Weather Academy. Not a big surprise, all things considered. It’s not like she was going to go to the Academy in Canterlot and major in playing her accordion.
Our songs vary. There’s a couple of ponies who get a bit irritated when there’s too many songs about the Windigoes. They prefer to mix it up with some more secular and modern tunes. I’ve usually got a couple of those on hoof, plus at least one for Button Mash, who spins the dreidel instead of making Hearth’s Warming dolls. Button comes for the camaraderie, plus he used to have this adorable crush on Cloudy, so I’ve taken it upon myself to try to accommodate him a little bit. Besides, I like some of his traditional songs… they’re like playing a Hearth’s Warming song in a minor key and dancing to it. It’s tough to explain. He always thanks me for making the effort. He says it isn’t necessary, but the fact that I always try means a lot to him.
Ironically, a lot of our more secular songs tend to be about reindeer, which I’ve never really understood, but I go along with it anyway. Plus there’s always the novelty songs like “All I Want For Hearth’s Warming is a Real Good Tan,” and “Let’s Be Naughty (and Save the Windigoes a Trip)” that tend to get the group laughing. Cotton Cloudy will usually get her accordion out and I’d naturally have my sousaphone with me (and trust me, it isn’t the easiest thing to be trekking that all across Equestria), so we’d be able to do a little something depending upon who else was there with an instrument. Ragtime could tickle the ivories (if you think carrying around a sousaphone is bad, imagine pulling an upright piano on a wagon all night), Kazooie would liven things up with his banjo, and one year we almost had a whole orchestra when Fiddlesticks, Symphony, and Octavia tagged along. Pinkie Pie could be a band by herself, but she was generally more content to just sing, except for the year she, Beau “Hill Song” Bass, and I went into an impromptu rendition of “Dueling Tubas.” We’ve gotten a little crazy some years.
One other thing is, at first glance you’d think this is just some ragtag group of random ponies honoring the memory of some loved ones during the holidays, but we’ve had our share of celebrities in our group, some local, some larger than life. Four out of six of the Elements of Harmony, Octavia Melody, DJ-P0N3 (I know her casually as Vinyl Scratch), Countess Coloratura, the Ponytones, and even a Princess or two have caroled with us at least once. I like to think that we’re below the radar enough to avoid some of the tabloid hype (as well as those fluffy rancid feel good stories you read about in the press) but still attract some very important ponies.
Ah, but I seem to have strayed from my original story, rambling on about traditions and all. As I said, it was early in the holiday season, and perhaps a combination of the greenery all around and the early night of caroling had somehow put a damper on the season for me. I had just finished a rare festive gig with the Klopperschmidts, a “rival” band to the Tiny Ewes. It was rare for me because the stallion in charge of the group is a tubist, and Hill Song was usually the first pony he would call on to substitute for him. Whatever circumstances caused both himself and Hill Song to be unavailable turned into a lucrative opportunity for me, and naturally I jumped at it. Bits are bits, after all, and I was going to be in the Ponyville area anyway for Hearth’s Warming.
As a pony who also saves everything until the last minute, I found myself stuck in line at Barnyard Bargains with a few stocking stuffers for the Professor and his nephews. The cashier was having issues of some sort with the cash register. I wasn’t in any particular hurry to be out of there, and it wasn’t the poor clerk’s fault that her equipment was on the fritz, but I felt irritated all the same.
It could have also been that the unicorn filly in line in front of me couldn’t stand still. Fidget, fidget, fidget. I wanted to comment that there are prescription drugs that help fix such problems, but that would have been cruelly insensitive. Besides, for all I knew she’s had a Big Gulp prior to shopping and just really needed to go. She looked to be around Button Mash and Cloudy’s age, and I’m fairly certain that I’d seen her around somewhere in town before, but as a sporadic visitor to Ponyville, and with the rate that fillies grow up these days I couldn’t be certain. Keep in mind that as I call her a filly, she was probably about the same age I was when I spent that fateful summer at Auntie Goldie’s cabin… so old enough to attend the Academy at least. She still had a sense of naivete about her that I found sweet, but not necessarily cloying. Being nosy and having nothing better to do, I took a peek at whatever Hearth’s Warming gifts were strewn about the basket dangling from her muzzle.
Inside was a shoebox, and nothing more. Upon closer inspection, the box was a pricey name brand, one that I wouldn’t have expected to be sold by a store called Barnyard Bargains, but I digress. The horseshoes inside were likely being sold at a discount, but they were made by a well known Canterlot manufacturer of good renown. In other words, this filly had good taste, or at least a good eye for quality at a good rate.
“They’re for my mama,” the filly said, and I realized that I’d been sticking my snout a little too close to her basket.
“Um… oh. Yeah,” I said in my best Canterlot Classy voice. Because that’s what we elitists say when we’re caught poking our snouts into something that’s none of our business.
“I had to double check her size, but I’ve sure that these are just right,” the filly continued, blissfully oblivious to my embarrassment.
Finding my tongue, I finally stammered out “I’m sure she will love them. They’re very high quality horseshoes.”
Her face lit up like Summer Sun Festival fireworks. “Oh, I do hope so. She’s been really down lately, and I was hoping that the right Hearth’s Warming gift would be just the thing to help her out of it. I go to school in Canterlot, but these same shoes cost a foreleg and a hind leg. When I saw them here, I couldn’t help but think that it must be fate.”
Fate. I suppressed a snort. Sure, there was something charming about the fact that she still believed in such a concept, but mares like me gave up on things like fate long ago… around the same time my doctor said “Yeah, you can’t have foals...” and my husband left me for a mare who could. Still, that’s no excuse to trample on her dreams, though, so I just smiled a plastic smile and nodded.
The cashier finally got her machine working and checked out the stallion in front of the filly, who tossed some very un-gentlestallion-y words in her direction as he stomped away. She proceeded to ring out the filly, and I could tell right away that something wasn’t going right as the youth counted up her bits.
“There’s not enough there,” the cashier said, simply.
“That’s impossible,” the filly insisted. “I counted my bits ten times, because I thought it was too good to be true.” She held up the price tag. “It even says so right here.”
“Sales tax,” the cashier replied and looked at me with one of those smug ‘I told you so’ looks. “Darn foals always forget about the sales tax. Kid, you’re a bit shy. Literally.”
Here I was worrying about trampling this poor filly’s dreams in the dirt and the cashier at Rich’s Barnyard Bargains does it instead. Desperate, the filly resorted to a half-hearted attempt at bargaining.
“Isn’t there something you can do? I mean, it’s just one bit, and I’ve met the Princesses… they’d understand… it’s important…”
It was heartbreaking, is what it was. She was on the verge of tears, and I have to admit that if she let go, I’d be bawling right along with her.
“Look, kid, if I let you get away with not paying the sales tax, what’s stopping mousey mane behind you from demanding the same thing?”
Mousey mane? Well, I never…
“Just go back and find some other horseshoes. There’s bound to be something that’s more within your price range.”
There was a defiant look in the filly’s eyes that flickered, dimmed, and was all but snuffed out. “Yeah. Sure, you’re right. I’m just being foalish.” She started to plod back toward the shoe department.
“No.”
It took a moment for me to figure out that I had said that out loud, and another for me to discover that I wasn’t finished.
“I’ve got you covered, miss…”
“Doo. Dinky Doo, ma’am.”
I pulled out my recently earned bits from the Klopperschmidt gig and piled them on the counter. “This should take care of her shoes, and these knicknacks of mine here. You do gift wrap, don’t you?”
“Um… yeah. Extra ten bits…” the cashier muttered, her cheeks reddening.
“Put your money away, Dinky Doo,” I ordered.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to--”
“I most certainly do. It’s what ponies do on Hearth’s Warming… what we should do all year long, really, but we often forget. Thank you for reminding me.”
The cashier finished wrapping up the horseshoes and handed them wordlessly to Dinky, who hugged me with tears of joy running down her face. “Mama’s gonna love them so much. She’ll be so happy. I don’t know what I can do to repay you…” She hugged me, and that was where I remembered her from before. Dinky Doo of Ponyville is a hugger, and rather infamous for it in many social circles. Not knowing what else to say, she scampered off to deliver her gift.
...and that was when it started feeling like Hearth’s Warming to me that year.
Aww! Like... you could post this. It's a decent lil' story!
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I started the story last December and never finished it until last night. I suppose I could could easily have a Hearth's Warming compilation between it and my 2013 and 2014 blogs...
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I have one started. Just need to get over the post-appendectomy fever caused by a compromised immune system...