Partly Cloudy, 64°
I don’t want a lot for Christmas. In fact, there’s just one thing I need. This year, I’m actually hoping I get some coal in my stocking, after I lost my job to that goddamn new wind farm.
My family’s been minin’ in Wesleyville, West Virginia, for six generations. And while mining ain’t easy, I’m great at it, and I love it. Loved it, I should say, because this summer, the government shut down the ol’ Wesleyville mine and put in those big-ass windmills up at the top of the hill. I’ve been so good this year, but I don’t want any toys or gifts. This Christmas, I’d sure love some coal. Maybe I can sell it back to the power company and get my job back.
All these years, I worked so hard in the mines, and I never even did anything to get on the naughty list. And now these windmills have gone and replaced me, Randall Reeves! It’s Wesleyville, goddamnit, not Windville! So I’m prayin’, to Jesus and to Santa—please give me coal this year. Maybe they’ll open the mine back up—it’d be a Christmas miracle!
When I’m out in the mines, I think about my pappy and my grandpappy and my great-grandpappy Reeves, who spent their lives with a pickaxe in one hand and a flashlight in the other. I think about the people I love—my wife, my little boys—who I could always support with my mining job. And I think about how I’m thankful for coal, how it pays for my food and keeps my family warm in the winters. I hear all these kids talking about how they hope they don’t get coal in their stocking this year, but me? There’s nothing I’d like more than a big ol’ lump of coal.
