A Woodsman in Frankfurt - Christmas Markets

Every city, every village, every corner in France and Germany has a Christmas Market. They each have their own voice, their own claim to fame; the best (Cologne), the most traditional (Augsburg), the oldest (Dresden 1434), their specialty (Bamberg, smoked beer). They are all magical. The smell of the food, the glimmer of the lights, the toys, the gluhwein (hot wine), awaken your Christmas spirit. I couldn’t help but smile as I passed each stall. How thrilling it must be to be a wide-eyed child strolling the Christmas markets. How much fun it must be to be 18, meet your friends, walk the market, and stay out on a school night. Michael and I filled up on bratwurst, karoffelpuffer (potato pancakes), and pretzels. We stayed warm with the gluhwein and hot chocolate. After a while, I didn’t even notice the biting cold.

One of the traditional items at the markets is the smokers, wooden incense holders. The smoke from the incense comes out a hole in the smoker. There are animals, houses, and people. There was even a dragon where the smoke came out of its mouth and rear end. We lingered the markets looking for the perfect one. We stumbled upon a carver named Holz in the Offenbach market in Frankfurt. Holz is a wood carver that looks like he was right out of the Black Forest. He worn a pointed leather hat with a big brim, a leather vest, and a rustic beard. The stall was packed with original hand carved smokers.

As we marveled at his art, he pointed to his grandson, who was about 13 and whittling a piece of wood in the stall. In broken and charming English, he said, “Learning." They spoke very little English and we spoke no German, yet somehow, we managed to understand each other very well. During our conversation, I looked directly behind him. There it was! The perfect smoker, a woodsman from the Black Forest! The search was well worth it. My patience paid off. Holz had carved himself. I was thrilled. I smile as a reminisce of my time at the Christmas Markets while I gaze every so often at Holtz as he sits by my fireplace. After all, where else would a woodsman be?