MY PARENTS decided to pay us a visit over the holidays, during our first winter on the acreage. They travelled from the west coast, eager to experience an authentic country Christmas. I was worried we'd get socked by a prairie deep freeze the moment they arrived, but Mother Nature blessed us with remarkably mild weather. A few days before our company came, I'd noticed a peculiar "click-click" sound coming from the basement. I vaguely recalled the previous owner pointing out a number of pumps and switches and mumbling something like, "You'll want to keep an eye on that." But since we were new to acreage life, I figured there were all sorts of noises that were perfectly normal, and I didn't give it a second thought. Meanwhile, my folks were getting a charge out of frolicking with the dogs, going for walks under frost-bejeweled trees and enjoying that pure, fresh country air. With my wife, Jackie, baking up a storm in the kitchen and everyone grinning from ear to ear, I just knew it was going to be the best holiday ever. On Christmas morning, I awoke to an all-too-familiar aroma. I wrinkled my nose and berated the little stinker lying at the foot of our bed, "Pee-yew. Out, dog!" But as I prodded the pooch out the door, an even more intense odour rushed in. Yikes, I thought, that's not doggie smell. I traced the noxious fumes to the basement, and that's when I realized the clicking sound had stopped. Oh-oh. Lapping toward the bottom of the stairs was a brackish, slimy pool. Panic set in. I spun around and bolted back up the stairs, almost colliding with family coming down. "What is that putrid smell, Mark?" my mother asked, holding a hand over her nose. "That's just gross, Dad," our nine-year-old added, looking decidedly green. Jackie said nothing. Her eyes said it all. Christmas was ruined! Would we have to move the family - tree, presents and all - to a hotel? How depressing. But maybe there was a solution. It's amazing how fast rural folk can help you in a pinch. A quick phone call to my neighbour, Doug, shed some light on the situation. Yes, I had a sewer pump in the basement and yes, it was probably jammed. I'd need to turn off the power and repair it, pronto. He offered to come over later with tools, but time was of the essence. "Okay, everybody," I barked, commando-style. "Fling open every door and window. Opa and I are going in!" With our noses plugged and tools in hand, my father and I descended the basement stairs, waded through the muck and did the dirty deed. Twenty minutes later, we had the pump back together again. A little ball of hair had clogged it. That's all it took to bring a busy household to a grinding stop. Now for the clean-up. As luck would have it, Jackie was able to convince a local waste removal company to make a house call on Christmas Day. In short order, the house was cleaned and scrubbed and anything soiled had been pitched out. Soon, we could smell nothing but the delectable aroma of a roasted turkey with all the fixings. As we gathered around the dinner table, Opa raised his glass. "Merry Christmas," he said. Just then we all heard, "CLICK!" Nobody breathed. What followed was the sweetest sound imaginable, the happy drone of a pump motor doing its job. - MARK BEHREND