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As the Mischief Makers approached the northern lights, they heard singing, clanging, and banging. Glitter stiffened, instantly recognizing that off-key, braying, voice.
“Dashing through the snow, in a hot and open stove
O’er the steak we go, dashing salt and clove…oooohhhh
Garlic here, onion there, with butter on the top,
Pepper with its spicy nose, is great on steaks and chops!”
“Hello, Uncle Jinglebob.”
The elves gasped, and tried not to look shocked, but really, who could blame them? They were staring up, up, up at an older, grizzled reindeer wearing an apron and chef’s hat.
“Glitter, m’girl!” With a clatter of utensils and spices flying, Uncle Jinglebob galloped to Glitter and gave her a reindeer version of a hug. “What are you doing way out here? I thought you were at the North Pole hob-nobbing with the big guy?”
Sighing at her eccentric Uncle, Glitter returned the hug. “Yes, I do work for Santa now, Uncle Jinglebob. Let me introduce you to the Mischief Makers and Santa’s Top Shelf Elves.”
Glitter made the introductions while Uncle Jinglebob bowed and smiled and cantered around the kitchen knocking pots, pans and other utensils everywhere in his excitement.
“What’s going on in here, Uncle Jinglebob?” Glitter surveyed the room. Pots, pans, knives, cutting boards, and all manner of cooking utensils covered every surface.
“Oh yes!” he said. “Welcome to my spice haven! I’ve collected these from all over the known world…and a few unknown parts as well!”
“What happened to baseball cards?”
“Oh I built another shack to store that collection. Had to make room for my crazy sock collecting!”
“Crazy socks?” asked Nim.
Glitter snorted. “Uncle Jinglebob is a…collector of sorts.”
“That’s right! Crazy socks, baseball cards, stamps, toilet paper brands, marshmallow snowmen, talking nutcrackers, singing snowglobes and now…spices!
He proceeded to regale them with tales of spice-seeking adventures and culinary escapades. The elves listened with rapt attention, delighted by this big reindeer and his adventures and puzzled by Glitter’s embarrassment.
“Uh, Uncle Jinglebob?” asked Glitter, who had been wandering around the kitchen. “What is this?”
Uncle Jinglebob cantered over to where Glitter was examining a rather large, odd shaped box. It was full to overflowing with spices and herbs.
“That is my spice cabinet!” announced Uncle Jinglebob.
“I can see that, but…it’s an unusual place to store spices.” Upon closer examination, Glitter noticed a small, red, flag.
“Huh,” said Figgy. “That spice cabinet looks just like a—.”
“Mailbox!” Pixie and Lil shouted as one.
Everyone looked at Uncle Jinglebob in astonishment.
“Well, now that you mention it, I did find a few envelopes inside. Let’s see now, where did I put those…”. Uncle Jinglebob began rummaging through the crowded and cluttered counter, throwing plates and knives every which-way. The elves ducked to avoid a butcher’s knife and Glitter took a fork to the antler.
“AHA!” Uncle Jinglebob cried. “Here they are!” With a flourish, he laid the letters out on the now cleared countertop. All were addressed to Santa.
Everyone, except Uncle Jinglebob, gasped.
“Uncle Jinglebob,” began Glitter. “Where, exactly, did you find this mailbox?”
“Oh that’s a great story! You see, I was walking through IcyGlade Forest when I tripped over something sticking out through the ice. I pulled out my icepick collection, and hammered and chipped until I uncovered this cabinet!”
“Uncle Jinglebob, this isn’t a cabinet. This is a mailbox. In fact, it’s the very mailbox we’ve been sent to find.”
“And look!” added Lil, pointing to the address. “All these letters have the wrong address!”
“No wonder they never reached Santa!” exclaimed Figgy.
Santa Claus
The North Pool
Uncle Jinglebob’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that all this time I’ve been holding onto letters to Santa?”
Glitter’s eyes softened at her uncle’s expression and dismay. “It’s ok, Uncle Jinglebob. It’s not your fault. The mailbox must have been buried in the ice after a blizzard or a snowstorm passed through the forest.”
“Yeah,” added Pixie. “You found the missing mailbox!”
Uncle Jinglebob smiled, shaking off the melancholy. “I guess I’ll have to find another place to store my spices.”
a pinch of homestead 