There’s something about Christmas Eve that always brings me home — not just to a place, but to a feeling. A quiet glow settles over Keuka Lake, the kind that makes the shoreline shimmer, the kind that makes every heart beat just a little softer. And as the hours drift toward nightfall, I always find myself slipping back into memories that feel as warm and familiar as a favorite winter scarf.
A Christmas Eve family gathering has been rooted in my life for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, the holiday didn’t officially begin until the moment my aunts, uncles, and what felt like dozens of cousins arrived at my grandparents’ house in Penn Yan. The door would swing open again and again, letting in bursts of cold air and bursts of laughter — the unofficial soundtrack of the season.
My grandfather — determined to capture every precious moment — would appear with his old movie camera, the kind with a spotlight so bright it practically blinded us all for several minutes. We would squint, freeze, and giggle as he narrated behind the lens, convinced he was documenting history in the making. And in many ways, he was. Those shaky reels of holiday chaos are now some of the most treasured windows into our family’s story.
Meanwhile, my grandmother, the commander of Christmas magic, held court in the kitchen. She moved with a quiet, confident grace through clouds of flour, simmering pots, and trays of warm cookies, orchestrating the holiday feast as though Christmas itself was tucked into her apron pocket. She knew exactly when the ham needed basting, when the potatoes were ready, and who needed an extra scoop of encouragement.
And the cousins — oh, the cousins — we would weave through the living room in a wild pack of holiday excitement, convinced the night held endless possibilities.
As the years moved along, so did life. We grew taller, then older, then into families of our own. The chairs in the living room shifted. New little ones joined the circle; some beloved faces became memories we now hold with tenderness. Traditions stretched, bent, and remade themselves. Some stayed the same, others blossomed into something new.
For me, though some traditions arrive new and freshly wrapped each year, there is still a hush of old tradition woven into every Christmas Eve. My family tree has grown wild and beautiful over the years — six grown children and their spouses, sixteen grandchildren (a few with partners of their own now), and three of the most precious great-grandchildren you could ever imagine. Christmas Eve in our home is full of laughter that rises like music, hugs that linger a little longer, and the giddy, sparkling excitement that only young children can bring. It is joyful and loud and wonderfully imperfect… and somehow still carries the gentle heartbeat of the Christmas Eves I knew as a child.
But one thing never changed:
Christmas Eve remains a gathering place — a moment where love roots itself firmly, no matter how many branches life grows.
These days, the gathering might look different. Maybe the house is new. Maybe the table is a bit smaller or a bit larger. Maybe there’s a quieter hum, or maybe new children have filled the space with the kind of excitement only Christmas can bring. Some families celebrate with matching pajamas, some with appetizers and board games, some with candlelit church services, and some with a toast to those who once filled the room.
Yet at the heart of every Christmas Eve, one truth remains:
Old traditions and new traditions are woven from the same thread — love, connection, and the simple joy of being together.
As I look out over Keuka Lake tonight, watching lights twinkle across the hills, I’m reminded that traditions don’t have to be elaborate or perfect. They simply need to be shared. Even the smallest moments — a story told for the hundredth time, cookies still warm from the oven, a quiet hug at the door — become the memories we’ll hold close the longest.
So wherever you find yourself this Christmas Eve, I hope your night is wrapped in warmth.
In laughter.
In gratitude.
In the comfort of the people who feel like home.
Here’s to the old traditions that shaped us.
Here’s to the new ones we’re creating.
And here’s to the love that roots us all — year after year.
Stay Rooted. Stay Keuka.
And may the magic of Christmas Eve find its way to your door. πβ¨
