As the winter sun dipped low behind the barns and fences of the old farm, Grandpa worked quietly at his makeshift outdoor workbench, his breath drifting into the cold evening air like pale smoke. The sky glowed warm with orange and gold, but the wind carried the crisp bite of December. Christmas was coming—he could feel it in his bones as surely as he felt the grain of the wood beneath his carving knife. Curled wood shavings covered the table and dusted his denim sleeves. Each careful stroke of