It was sunset now. I stood at the edge of the field with my girlfriend, Nicki, our arms resting on top of the wooden fence. It was the Christmas season then, and cold like it should be.

Beyond the field, to the west, lay deep woods. The horses stood between us and the woods. The woods grew tall between the horses and the sun setting far off in the distance. Standing where we stood, hands in our jackets, we could look at the ants down at our feet, to the horses beyond, to the woods, out to the sun.

We could look from the Earth out to infinity.

Inside, there was a fireplace waiting. There were blankets and rocking chairs, and lights to flick on and dispel the darkness. That night, from a window, Nicki and I watched the snow fall down onto the lonely fields. The horses were in the stables then, lying on beds of hay.

We could drive into the city if we wanted, to look at the electric lights on strings. But it was quiet out here. This was the vacation we had dreamed about. This was Christmas in Asheville, N.C.

Frozen Roads

Driving over snow-topped mountains was an experience in itself. We'd stop to buy Carolina-style barbecue sandwiches and bottles of Cheerwine, a cherry soda that's only available north of the Florida state line. Sometimes we'd stop so Nicki could talk to horses in roadside pastures, and maybe feed them apples.

The windshield would get so cold that a piece of your hand felt dead when you touched it. Inside my truck it was cozy though. Nicki sat quietly in her seat most of the time, with an XXL sweatshirt and a bag of Ruffles potato chips for comfort. She was warm. She'd peer way down into the valley when the truck twisted around a switchback and her eyes would get big.

For an instant the feeling was that if anything went wrong, then the truck would simply fall off and we would be falling forever. That feeling didn't last though. The overriding feeling was that it was cold outside and we were warm. That the afternoon light on those mountains and the empty blue sky was just for us.

We'd get out of the car at overlooks to stretch our legs. We'd look out over miles of wavy hills with trees on the crests and homes in the trough. It was just as interesting as looking at the ocean. A falling sun quickly changes the look of the mountains: What was in shadow is exposed and what once seemed bright and accessible now creeps into a dark place you wouldn't want to visit.

If you watch it long enough, the Earth reveals secrets about the land you wouldn't otherwise see. It's like you're the only one (at least in earshot) who can listen to nature's coded transmissions.

Nicki and I got out of the car because each time we did we'd get this crazy giddy feeling like a monster was chasing us. Who can stay outside the car longest? The cold would hit our legs first and then work its way up to our chests. After five minutes, we'd have to jump up and down because we were going crazy with cold fever. After 10 minutes it wasn't funny anymore.

The gag, of course, was that we could go back inside the truck whenever we wanted. It was like throwing marbles at a lion when the lion is inside a cage. It's fun as long as you're in control.

Royal Reception

On cold days like that, it's best to retire to your old North Carolina home and sit down, wrapped in blankets while sipping hot spiced cider.

If you don't yet have your own Carolina home, then let the Vanderbilt family welcome you into theirs. The Biltmore Estate, built in the late 19th century, is the largest private residence in America. It has about 250 rooms inside, 65 fireplaces and a 3-mile-long ``driveway`` approaching the house. Visitors were first received on Christmas Eve, 1895.

Inside the house, from Nov. 4 to Jan. 1, you'll find roughly 40 Christmas trees, 500 wreaths and 1,500 poinsettias. Musicians play seasonal pieces on flute and fiddle, and gleaming wrapped packages lay tucked away in crannies throughout the house. You can wander at your own pace, taking time to savor the details of the decorations, from poinsettias in windows and Christmas trees decorated with holiday cards and butterflies, to the ginger bread estate (don't call it a house!) on display in the kitchen. While most American homes at the time lacked a single electric light, George Vanderbilt's Christmas tree had 500 of them. This was an American chateau built for the American equivalent of royalty.

In keeping with the chateau tradition, the estate has its own farms and even its own winery. You can tour the production facility that puts out 75,000 cases of wine each year. Then sample some of the 15 varieties made there. Kids are also welcome at the tastings, but they only get to critique grape juice.

Near the winery, down at the farmyard, brown cows sit inside stables. Baby chicks wait underneath heat lamps. You can pick them up, two in a hand, to hear them chirp softly in your ear. And don't forget those lovely Belgian draft horses, standing 17 hands high and waiting for a nose rub. They stamp their feet to ward off the cold.

As the day gets later and colder, the sun goes far below the forests surrounding Biltmore Estate. Stars come out and they ring around the mountains like necklaces. It's time to head indoors then, or at least toward the car and the electric heater. There's a bakery up by the Biltmore House, offering heavy fruitcake wrapped in wax paper. Or there's barbecue and Cheerwine a few miles up the road. Leave the horses to the hay and stables then. Go and talk about what you'll do the next day on a Carolina Christmas.

Andy Schrader is a civil engineering student at the University of South Florida and author of ''Eurostumble: A College Student's Guide to Europe.''