I quickly donned a thick layer of winter outer gear, grabbed my flashlight and dashed out the door. That Santa sleigh suit had to be nearby and I would find it and save Christmas. I trotted down the back hill to the nearest wetland, then up the ridge to the vernal pools and back down the slope towards the river. I searched beaver flowages, seeps, springs, cattail marshes, swamps, and wetland fringes along nearby lakes and ponds and streams. But nowhere did I find the slightest red glimmer of a Santa sleigh suit. Finally, weary and discouraged I returned home. It was very late.
Santa was waiting for me impatiently.
“Where are the children?” he asked.
“I don’t understand why you keep going on about needing children,” I said. “We’ve got baffledoodles to worry about. I’ve been out looking for the Santa sleigh suit.”
“You won’t find it,” he said. “Grown-ups can’t see the suit. Only children can see the Santa sleigh suit when I’m not wearing it. ”
“And this makes sense because—”
“It doesn’t make any sense at all,” Santa said. “It’s got nothing to do with sense. It’s about Christmas.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Well I can’t get any children now,” I told Santa. “It’s too late. But tomorrow, or rather tonight,” I said looking at my watch, “we’re having a Christmas party and there will be children.”
“It’ll have to do,” Santa said.
********
At the party that night the talk quickly turned to baffledoodles. One neighbor down the road said there was a terrible ruckus in his back yard the night before. When he went out to investigate, he found a strange object he was convinced was left behind by a baffledoodle. Another guest was very excited to hear this and revealed she had always longed to serve as an ambassador for baffledoodles everywhere. She said that their long teeth were merely meant to be used to shred Santa suits into nests and they were really gentle, peaceful creatures. Another guest argued that baffledoodles were not the scary toothsome creatures of legend at all but rather small dainty wetland elves distantly related to Santa.
Apparently a lot more people knew about baffledoodles than I realized.
When the kids arrived I was already armed with baffledoodle safety goggles, baffledoodle safety hats and flashlights all supplied by Santa.
Outside it was dark and cold—a still night with stars everywhere. We followed my tracks in the snow from the night before down the hill. I held an enormous red bag also supplied by Santa. I saw no sign of a red suit anywhere, but my young companions did.
“Over here, a sock!”
“There’s another sock!’
“One here, too!”
“Santa sure has a lot of socks!”
“I found a mitten.”
“What’s this? It’s huge!”
“It’s his jacket.”
“And a belt.”
“I hope we don’t have to find his underwear!”
I couldn’t see a thing. But the kids were running up to me and dropping stuff of some kind into my sack because it was getting heavier and heavier.
“I’m not going home without his pants,” I said mentally keeping tabs on the items they described. “And his hat.”
We continued to search.
“Here, it’s his pants.” Everyone giggled.
“And there, on that branch. It’s his hat!”
Triumphantly we headed back to the party. As we neared the house the sack suddenly got even heavier.
My cell phone rang.
It was Santa.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he said. “If you reach into that sack you’re carrying: you’ll find some presents for those good boys and girls. “Ho, ho, ho.”
I smiled. “So we’re all set. Christmas is saved?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “Without my Santa sleigh suit, I haven’t had time to calibrate my flight path. I’m going to need some folks to light my way from the mountains on Christmas Eve. You better put a call into the Maine Chapter of the Appalachian 
Mountain Club right away.”
“But Santa,” I said as I entered the house.
Santa was standing in my living room among all the guests nodding and smiling with a cell phone to his ear. He waved at me then turning, disappeared up the chimney.
*****
A Southern Maine Christmas Carol:
Part I Santa Rents Some Empty Office Space
Part III Disaster Strikes: Christmas Imperiled
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