Early the next morning, Lois padded into the kitchen, where Clark was already bustling about, making coffee and getting breakfast ready.
“Morning, honey,” Lois said as she accepted the coffee Clark handed her. “How’s the world today?”
He grinned, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Good morning. The usual chaos. Perry’s already breathing down our necks - apparently, someone set up a fake charity and used the donations to fund a drug operation.”
Lois groaned, her tone halfway between exasperation and amusement. “Figures. Crime doesn’t even take a holiday before Christmas.”
As she took a sip of her coffee, her eyes drifted toward the bag from their advent calendar, placed neatly on the table beside the tree. Lois picked it up, carefully untying the ribbon before pulling out a miniature wooden ornament, a delicate, carved pine tree. The simple design was beautiful, its edges smooth and it carried a faint scent of pine.
She raised an eyebrow and looked over at Clark. “A tree tree-ornament?”
Clark smiled knowingly. “Exactly. But it’s more than just a decoration. The tree represents a very old Christmas tradition.”
Lois’s curiosity piqued. “I never thought about the origin of Christmas trees.”
“The tradition of the tree has roots that go back much further than we often realize.” He answered. “In fact, it’s believed that the first Christmas tree, as we know it, originated in the Baltic region, in the early 16th century, though similar traditions are much older than that. Some historians see the origin in ancient Egypt, others with the Celts.”
Lois leaned in, intrigued by his tone. “I had no idea.”
Clark nodded. “Yeah, it’s fascinating. The first recorded Christmas tree was set up in Rīga, Latvia, back in 1510 though other sources credit the tradition to Germany. It wasn’t quite like the trees we see today, it was a big fir tree, decorated with candles, which was a big deal back then. People would gather around it, sing carols and celebrate the Christmas season. That tree was then put up in the public square.”
Lois looked down at the small wooden ornament in her hand, turning it over thoughtfully. “So this tiny tree is a symbol of that first Christmas tree tradition?”
Clark smiled, nodding. “Exactly. It’s a tribute to the roots of the holiday. That tradition spread over time, with people decorating trees in their homes, symbolizing light and life during the darkest days of winter. Over the centuries, it evolved into the Christmas tree we know today, adorned with ornaments, tinsel and lights.”
She glanced over at their tree, its branches heavy with ornaments. The soft glow of the lights cast a warm, golden hue over the room and Lois couldn’t help but smile.
Clark followed her gaze and for a moment, they both just stood there, taking in the beauty of the tree. Lois reached over to place the little wooden ornament on a low branch, where it could catch the light just right.
Clark leaned against the back of the chair, watching her.
She reached over, giving Clark a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away, a playful glint in her eye. “As much as I’d love to keep this holiday magic going, we still have work to do, don’t we?”
Clark sighed dramatically, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Yep. Perry’s not going to give us a free pass just because it’s Christmas.”
Lois glanced at the clock, realizing they were running short on time. “Come on, we better get moving if we’re going to make it to work on time. Let’s grab a quick breakfast before we head out.”
---
That evening, after a long day at work, Lois and Clark returned home. They had just finished dinner when Clark suggested they try something new for the evening.
“I was thinking,” he said, his voice warm, “since we talked about Latvia this morning, why don’t we celebrate one of their Christmas traditions tonight? It’ll take a couple of hours, but I think you’ll love it.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “What kind of tradition?”
Clark smiled mysteriously as he pulled a small envelope from his pocket. Inside was a printed recipe and a handwritten note. “It’s called piparkūkas. They’re Latvian gingerbread cookies, and they’ve been a Christmas tradition for centuries.”
“Latvian, huh? Is there a story behind these cookies, or did you just find an excuse to get me to bake?” She replied.
His smile widened. “The name comes from the word pipari, which means ‘pepper,’ because they’re rich with spices like cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. Back in the Middle Ages, spices were so expensive that baking cookies like these was a big deal, reserved for the holidays or special celebrations. They’re rolled thin, cut into all kinds of shapes: stars, hearts, snowflakes. Sometimes they’re even hung on Christmas trees as decorations. There’s also this fun little Latvian superstition that eating piparkūkas might make you fall in love. So, I guess you’d better be careful.”
Lois raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Fall in love, huh? Guess it’s a little late for that, though I suppose it could make me fall even harder. Better watch out, farm-boy. You might end up stuck with me forever.”
Clark chuckled, leaning closer. “Stuck with you forever? Lois, that’s why I married you.”
Soon, the kitchen was filled with the warm, festive aroma of spices as they worked side by side. Clark rolled out the dough while Lois carefully cut out shapes.
As the cookies baked, they sat at the kitchen table, sipping mulled cider Clark had prepared earlier. “In Latvia,” he said, “families do this, especially in the weeks leading up to Christmas. It’s not just about the cookies - it’s about spending time together, sharing stories, and savoring the season.”
Later, as they pulled the golden-brown cookies from the oven, Lois sampled one, her eyes widening. “Clark, these are amazing. We’re definitely doing this again.”
