A Chanukah Tradition at Our Farmhouse

It started our first Chanukah in our “new” home–the 1743 Colonial farmhouse we bought in 1998. For the first chunk of my kids’ lives, we lived close to the center of town, a dense and fairly urban residential neighborhood. Then we moved to this ancient and wonderful home on a working dairy farm (my hard-working neighbors have 400 cows).

We lit the candles and each put our menorah in a different window. And then one of the kids asked, “Can anybody see our candles from the state highway?”

Our house is a block back and up a hill. At that time, there was only an open pasture between us and the main road. We piled into the car and made a circuit. Our house was visible, but it was pretty hard to tell there were candles in the window.

But once we were out there with our coats on, someone got the bright idea to walk around the house and look at all four menorahs, singing “Oh Chanukah, Oh Chanukah.”

Since then, we’ve walked around the house, singing, eight nights a year: four humans who live here, one dog, and whoever happens to be visit and is not too infirm. Sometimes it’s been so icy we needed ski poles. Sometimes we have our whole Chavurah (circle of friends) each with a menorah and there are dozens or hundreds of candles, depending on how far into the holiday we are (you add a candle each night). Sometimes it’s been sleeting.

Last night, the first night of Chanukah this year, was clear and cold. The constellations were incredibly clear, and one planet hung just over the mountain behind our house. I had left my glasses inside, because it was cold enough that I wore the hat I’d bought in Russia that I can’t wear if it’s above 20 degrees F, and wrapped a scarf around my face—and I knew the glasses would steam up. And yet, the stars were still fabulous.