EDITOR’S NOTE: This is part of a weekly series on our region’s history coordinated by the Trumbull County Historical Society.

Christmas morning in 1898 dawned warm and snowless, but in the Sutliff household, it was filled with wonder all the same.

In a carefully kept journal, Lydia Sutliff recorded the details of that day, not with the intent of preserving history, but simply to remember the small joys of her young son’s childhood. More than a century later, her words offer a remarkably intimate glimpse into how one family celebrated the holiday at the turn of the 20th century.

“This is a beautiful Christmas day,” Lydia wrote, noting the mild weather before turning her attention to the true focus of the morning: her young son, Edward.

As soon as he woke, she and her husband wished him a Merry Christmas. His response, “fanks,” was earnest and unpolished, a toddler’s pronunciation captured forever in ink. The spelling throughout the entry preserves not only the sounds of a child’s voice, but the warmth of a mother determined to remember them just as they were.

Edward’s delight unfolded slowly and deliberately.

He pulled treasures from his stocking one by one: mittens, candy, handkerchiefs and small clothing items. With each discovery he exclaimed, “oh see!”

When he entered the parlor and spotted the Christmas tree, his wonder deepened.

“Oh pitty tree,” he said, circling it carefully, taking in the decorations and the gifts waiting below. Among his favorites was a George Washington doll, which he immediately began to play with, and a small Santa Claus figure perched on the tree, “with his pack on his back,” Lydia noted.

The home was filled with sound and motion. Edward pulled his musical organ from room to room, singing as he went, the day unfolding in a joyful blur. Gifts came from every direction, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all carefully recorded. There were picture books, dolls, toy animals, a covered chest for playthings, bells, mittens and even a tiny horn.

As evening came, the excitement finally caught up with the little boy.

He went to bed tired but content, only to wake again when he heard supper being called. From his bed he asked, “Mamma are you calling supper?” and then, with concern for others, “Don’t Ebbard (Edward) hab any supper?” Lydia brought him out to sit on her lap, where he happily nibbled celery, calling it “candy.”

In these simple moments, preserved across generations, we find something timeless. The toys may have changed, and the world certainly has, but wonder, generosity, family and love remains much the same. Through Lydia Sutliff’s careful words, a long-ago Christmas morning still feels familiar and wonderfully alive.

To read Lydia’s full journal, visit trumbullcountyhistory.org.