When

someone who grew up in Germany refers to a

"tradition" in his village, he may mean an

event that has happened annually since 1167.

In Peachtree City, in 1999,

celebrations achieve "tradition" status merely

Holiday celebrations,

especially those unique to a particular locale, help make

a community of residents thrown together at random, help

bond strangers to each other and to place.

The Fourth of July comes to

mind.

But despite a conscious

effort to launch traditions here that would - we

hoped - pass to future generations, more have

disappeared than have survived.

The first holiday seasons

we lived here were unremarkable, consisting of rowdy

office parties, decorated yards and homes, and Christmas

Eve church services - nothing that set Peachtree

City apart from any other small town.

Except, perhaps, for the

Christmas tree the Fulton boys anchored out on a float on

Lake Peachtree. I never learned exactly how they did it,

but every evening after dark, someone went out to crank

the generator that powered the lights.

I thought that cheerful

little tree, its multi-colored lights twinkling back from

the inky waters, was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen,

until one very foggy evening when I happened by on

Highway 54 (this when maybe a dozen cars drove through

town on any given night). The tree appeared to be

disembodied, hovering above an invisible lake, existing

only as a pyramid of lights shimmering eerily through the

mist.

The Fulton boys grew up,

and the bicycle bridge that spanned Highway 54 shortly

after we arrived in 1971 became the logical place for

lights and swags of greenery. So one tradition cedes to

another.

Early on, when we numbered

fewer than 1,000, the mayor - it must have been

Howard Morgan - pulled together a committee to

brainstorm ideas that might symbolize Christmas in

Peachtree City henceforth and forever more.

Garden Cities Corp.,

predecessor to Peachtree City Development Corp. which was

predecessor to Pathway Communities, were the only folks

around that had any money for such projects.

The city didn't. We didn't

even have city taxes until 1974. Police protection was

provided by the sheriff's office. The fire department was

entirely volunteer. Streets, water, sewers were installed

county supported.

Anything we did on a

community basis in Peachtree City was paid for by

individual or corporate donations, by fund-raisers or

sweat equity, or by Garden Cities. They were happy to pay

for newsworthy happenings that called attention to their

fledgling city.

Don't misunderstand. They

went far beyond minimum requirements in building

Peachtree City; their generosity made this place the

attractive place it was and is, and gave us amenities we

could probably never have afforded on our own. Sure, they

sold lots. Sure, the town grew. That was the design.

But I digress. In a rare

instance of a committee that worked, several citizens and

Garden Cities' people came up with the idea of an

old-timey yule log to kick off the holiday season. We'd

gather `round a merry fire on the common area by the

lake, just east of old City Hall, which was then in a

strip of offices where the fountain is today. We'd enlist

church choirs to sing, we'd serve hot chocolate, and at

the right moment, Santa Claus would arrive on a fire

truck to take children's requests.

Well, it worked for several

years, and I'm not altogether certain today when we gave

it up. It takes only a couple of years of bad weather,

after all, and a new population base that doesn't recall

traditions from years past because they weren't here

then, and such events become irrelevant and go away.

The short-lived tradition I

mourn most was the German Weihnachtsmarkt.

Peachtree City has a

sizeable population of Germans and Americans who have

lived in, traveled in, and love Germany, and a few of us

came up with the idea of a Christmas market like those in

every dorf in Deutschland. The first weekend in December,

a craft-and-food festival with a heavy German accent,

complete with wandering accordionists, minstrels and

oom-pah bands burgeoned into a two-day revel on City Hall

Plaza.

Lufthansa gave away stollen

flown in for the occasion; ersatz gluhwein flowed;

handmade wooden toys and ornaments clattered. A bonfire

was lit that first year, like those that illuminate the

German Alps on Christmas Eve. The tree was lighted and

Santa welcomed, and church choirs massed on the bicycle

bridge to serenade the crowds.

For an unproven venture,

that first year was a huge success. The weather was cold

but clear and bright. Everyone - volunteers, city

employees, PCDC - pitched in with a will.

The second year saw an even

larger assembly of merchants, but rain kept the crowds

down.

staffer took exception to the ethnic flavor, and declared

that this is America, not Germany, so we should have an

American festival. The event became just another arts and

crafts fair and, with nothing to distinguish it from a

thousand others, faded into oblivion.

As I was lamenting these

losses to city recreation chief Randy Gaddo recently,

gentle man that he is, he pointed out that my home town's

success has been its own undoing. Events that worked when

we were smaller and traffic lighter are too cumbersome

now.

How could you safely

accommodate the kind of crowd a bonfire might draw today,

and where would you have it anyhow?

Highway 54 is a four-lane

road today. Where could a crowd gather to listen to

choristers on the bridge? And then there's the dicey

December weather.

There's still loads to do

during the holidays. A tree lights up, Santa still

arrives, still by fire truck.

But allow me one wistful

moment to remember traditions of Christmas past, gone so

soon...

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