Christmas Letter 2025

Christmas Letter 2025

From: Jim & Vicki

I want to begin with these photos.

They may not look like much at first—just piles of branches, pine needles, sticks, and forest debris—but to us, they represent something precious: normalcy.

After a year marked by unusual physical and mental stress, seeing our annual pile of downed forest material is quietly reassuring. Watching it burn—something we’ve done every year for the past fifteen—gives us a sense of relief and belonging. It means we are still part of this place, still tending it, still strong enough to do what needs doing.

We spent a couple of days gathering the fuel for the fire. Once it was lit, we spent an entire day feeding it—dragging in two-year-old stacks of branches from around the property, well past dark. When you have a good fire going, you feed it until you run out of energy or fuel. This year, it was a close call which would give out first.

That fire marked the turning point of a long year.

A Year of Surgeries and Decisions

For several months, I had been experiencing discomfort and swelling in my right lower jaw. Antibiotics that once controlled it stopped working. A wisdom tooth extraction in the same area wasn’t healing properly. Vicki and I talked it through, and I decided the best course was for me to return to our OC home and seek specialized care.

I left for Orange County on January 14, 2025.

What followed was a procession of specialists, scans, and difficult conclusions. The root cause turned out to be radiation I had received 28 years ago—damage that had quietly compromised circulation to the bone. The x-rays were devastating. The jawbone had deteriorated to the point of collapse.

While in OC, I underwent about 40 hyperbaric oxygen therapy sessions, a treatment still debated within the medical community, but one that offered the best chance of recovery. Eventually, through contacts in the oral surgery world, we found the right specialist at Loma Linda University.

On March 13, I underwent an all-day “jaw-in-a-day”, 12-hour surgery.

I spent six days in the hospital. The operation was successful.

Part of my left fibula now comprises a section of my right jaw.

My mouth feels strange but externally, most people would not notice the difference.

Vicki’s Turn

By that point, Vicki had joined me in OC—but she was struggling badly herself. Debilitating back pain made daily life difficult. We consulted one specialist in Mission Viejo, but something didn’t feel right. Vicki arranged a second opinion with a surgeon at UCI Medical, and this time, we knew we had the right fit.

Her surgery was scheduled.

In the meantime, a complication arose: the titanium plate holding my new jaw fractured, requiring another surgery in June. Thankfully, this one was far less serious.

Vicki’s back surgery took place on June 18. She spent four days in the hospital. While her back healed structurally, the overall disruption to her system was profound—chronic GI issues, balance problems, and disorientation followed. Recovery from major surgery, we learned, isn’t confined to the surgical site.

Slowly, with physical therapy and patience, she began to turn a corner. We worked our way back to walking a couple of miles a day. She had lost about eight pounds, and we’re still working to restore that strength.

Keeping the Mind Alive

During all of this, I knew I needed projects—things to occupy my mind while my body healed.

Unlike up north, where projects are usually physical, these were indoor ones. I learned to play the piano. I’m not great, but playing a few hours a day makes you better. I also undertook a slightly insane challenge: transcribing 100 piano pieces into digital form. I shared them with my friend Bob and my brother Jeff, and the process taught me a great deal about arrangement and structure.

I also began something entirely new: publishing.

Over the past six months, I launched a Substack and have published about 160 articles. The audience has grown steadily, and the biggest milestone is that I now publish three times a week in Rip’s newsletter, which goes out to roughly 25,000 subscribers.

That work kept me grounded when everything else felt uncertain.

The more I write, the more I’m reminded how fragile—and how essential—the idea of free speech really is. I doubt that I would have expressed myself so freely during the previous administration.

Finally, I’ve started writing software again. Many of you may not know this, but I spent years as a senior developer at several major companies. After a long hiatus, I recently dove back in—and the results have been striking. Yes, I’m leveraging AI to operate like a ten-person shop, but that’s a separate story. I think you’ll find it fascinating.

Home Again

With appointments and surgeries finally behind me, I drove back to our northern Sierra Nevada home in October. Being home again felt almost unreal. There were moments earlier in the year when I wasn’t sure I’d ever see the forest again.

Since returning, I’ve been catching up on the quiet, satisfying work of life here: sealing asphalt cracks, blowing leaves, fixing generators, moving firewood, plumbing the chalet, installing brighter lights in the shop.

Vicki completed her physical therapy in OC and joined me here in November. We’ve reconnected with old friends up here in the mountains — Jeff and Jean, our neighbors, friends on Mill Street, and the rhythms we’ve missed.

What the Photos Mean

The photos you see here might look bland at first glance.

They aren’t.

They represent the joy of being ordinary again.

Sometimes that’s all you really want. And sometimes, as life advances, that’s all you really need.

Every morning I wake up grateful to see the sun cresting just above the hill across the lake. To me, this is the most glorious church imaginable: tall trees, a flock of thirty wild turkeys wandering the property, four-point deer slipping through the brush, squirrels thumping their defiance, ravens cawing in conversation, and an Indian summer—maybe an Indian autumn—like we’ve never quite seen before.

That’s why we lit the big fire.

It’s been a long time coming.

Merry Christmas to everyone.

—

Jim & Vicki