"As far as I was concerned, one of best parts of Christmas was going out with my dad to cut a Christmas tree. We had small stands of pine trees planted around farm to stop soil erosion. We would walk around until we found a nice tree, and then we would cut it and bring it home," Ralph recalled.

Ralph's book, Christmas In Dairyland (True Stories From a Wisconsin Farm) (copyright 2003; ISBN1-59113-366-1 ; trade paperback; 153 pages; $13.95), features 20 stories set on her family's farm during Christmas season. Story titles include "The Lefse Connection," "Milkweed Pods and Poinsettias," "Wintergreen," "White Christmas," "Jeg Er Sa Glad Hver Julekveld," "The Most Perfect Toboggan," "A Candle for Christmas," and "A New Year Unlike Any Other." The book also includes recipes for lefse, fattigman (a Norwegian cookie, pronounced 'futty-mun'), julekake, and Christmas cookies, as well as instructions for making candles out of old crayons, as featured in story "A Candle for Christmas."

"Several years ago a story of mine about my dad making ice cream was published in an e-mail newsletter. The title of story was 'Dad's Favorite Recipe,' and for several weeks after that I received e-mails asking for recipe. That's why I decided to include recipes in book for some of foods mentioned in my stories," Ralph explained.

Ralph earned an undergraduate degree in English with a writing emphasis from University of Wisconsin-Whitewater and also earned a Master of Arts in Teaching from UW-Whitewater. She taught English at a boys' boarding school for several years and worked as a newspaper reporter for more than eight years. She is a freelance writer for two weekly newspapers in west central Wisconsin and is editor of Wisconsin Regional Writer, quarterly publication of Wisconsin Regional Writers' Assoc.

For more information about Christmas In Dairyland (True Stories From a Wisconsin Farm), visit http://ruralroute2.com. The book also can be ordered through any brick-and-mortar bookstore.

During summer, every time I went to town with Dad to grind feed, I hoped he would buy a package of my favorite candy or gum. Not at feed mill, of course. They didn't sell Teaberry gum or Lifesavers at feed mill. But if we went to restaurant for pie while we waited for our feed, or if Mom had asked Dad to pick up a couple of things at grocery store, I would try to talk him into buying some gum or candy.

Going to feed mill with Dad was a summertime activity, however, and there were long stretches during school year when I never even saw a package of Teaberry gum or a roll of Lifesavers, much less had any in my possession.

So what was Dad talking about when he had stopped truck and said, "wintergreen?"

I stared at embankment and then at hill beyond but I couldn't see anything out of ordinary. I shut truck door behind me just as Dad scrambled nimbly up bank into woods.

"It's growing all over here," he said, pointing to ground. "They've got berries, too."

I struggled up bank behind him to get a closer look. Underfoot were small plants with shiny green leaves.

"That green stuff is wintergreen?" I said.

My father nodded. "Like what they use to make gum?"

"Yup. Here. Taste."

He reached down and picked a couple of small, pinkish-red berries, popping one into his mouth and handing one to me.

I sniffed berry. It smelled like wintergreen, all right, but I wasn’t one bit sure about eating thing.

"Taste it," Dad urged. "You'll be surprised."

So, I ate berry. It had a strange consistency -- sort of dry and mushy, all at same time. . .and then my mouth was filled with marvelous taste of wintergreen. The same as my favorite gum, but different, too. More delicate.

"It's good!" I exclaimed, grinning. Then I frowned. "How come we haven't seen it before?"

"Usually too much snow by this time," Dad said.

"What about in summer, though?"

"Too much underbrush and other green things."

"And this is really stuff they use in gum?" I asked.

Dad took his cap off, slapped it against his leg to rid it of snow and then put it back on his head.

"Well. . .they probably don't go into woods and pick wild wintergreen. People probably raise it and sell it, and I think they might use leaves rather than berries, but yes, this is stuff."

By now snow was falling so hard it made a hissing noise as it struck copper-colored oak leaves above us. Unlike other trees, some of oaks, I had noticed, keep their leaves until spring.

"How do you know so much about wintergreen?" I asked.

"Oh," Dad said, "when we were kids, we used to pick it so we could make ice cream."

I turned to look at him. "Ice cream?" "Our kind of ice cream, anyway. A little dish of snow with winter-green berries mixed in."

Suddenly I struck upon a wonderful idea.

"I know! I can try some right now."

I took off my mitten, picked a few wintergreen berries and scooped a small handful of fluffy, fresh snow. I put berries in snow, and -- well -- I have to admit it was pretty tasty.

I put my mitten back on. "Didn't you have real ice cream when you were growing up, Dad?"

My father smiled. "Sure -- sometimes. Not store bought, though. We made our own with a hand-cranked ice cream freezer. But that was mostly in summertime. We thought wintergreen ice cream was an awful lot of fun."

Dad had been middle child among several older brothers, an older sister, and three younger sisters. My grandparents had worked as cooks in a lumber camp in northern Wisconsin in early 1900s. Many years ago, long before I was born, Dad had made his living cutting pulp wood.

"Daddy? How did you see wintergreen from road?" I asked.

My father hesitated before answering. "I didn't see it. Not today, at least."

I stopped trying to adjust my mitten so thumb lined up like it was supposed to and turned my full attention toward Dad.

"Remember last fall, when county forester came out here?" he asked.

"Yeah, I remember."

Just on other side of small wooded hill was a two-acre stand of tall red pine with a couple of rows of white pine next to road. Dad said trees were among oldest of plantations in county that had been planted just after Great Depression to keep sandy soil from eroding. Nearly every year, forester would come out to check on them. One year he used Dad's pine trees to demonstrate a brand new trimming device to foresters from other counties.

Well," Dad continued, "while we were out here, I decided to take a little walk. I don't get much of a chance just to walk around back here."

"And that's when you saw wintergreen?" Dad nodded. "I was waiting for right opportunity to show it to you."

He turned back toward truck. "It'll be dark soon. We'd better get home. The cows are waiting to be milked."

As we slid down embankment, I glanced over my shoulder.

Wintergreen.

Growing in woods not far from my house.

And in that instant, I knew gum and candy would never again taste quite same.