Big Mac hoped that, by some miracle, he wouldn't be so lonely this Hearths warming. He paced around his nice farm house, looking out the window before letting out a low sigh. His beloved wife had passed two years ago, and his kids were all off being their own successes. His sisters were busy with their own lives and his own parents, and grand parents had of course preceded Sugar Belle to that great big farm in the sky. He opened the door to the chilly but tolerable air, at least tolerable for a few minutes. He took a quick, brisk walk around the house to check on things. He took a moment to feed the chickens but otherwise he didn't have much to do on the farm in the winter. He had been hoping for a broken fence post or something on his walk, so he had something to distract him, but no such luck.
He went back in to bundle up, and headed off to town. He could at least retrieve his mail and while his children were too far away to visit, they at least sent him Hearth's Warming cards. As he walked towards the center of Ponyville he grimaced slightly. His children never wrote to him on the topic but he's seen the news, their cities were having, problems. He was out here, in idyllic Ponyville where he had plenty. Heck, he had an absolutely overflowing storage space as he was still in the habit of saving for his family, despite them being no longer with him.
As Big Mac looked through his letters, and could smile at the words of his children, though his youngest had some sad news. Little Mac was less... Socially nuanced than his siblings. He simply mentioned the problems in the city of Manehatten, hungry ponies who couldn't make ends meet. He smiled at the thought of his own son, so blunt, not one to mince words. He then frowned, as an idea sparked in his mind, nodding slowly he turned to go pester his sister for a moment. He didn't want to intrude on Applejack and he families events, but he needed a favor.
Big Mac carried the large crates off the back of the train, huffing slightly. He hadn't planned on any work on Hearths Warming, but he was happy with it. He had once used work to distract him from his pain and loneliness. His passed wife, his distant children, but that wasn't how he felt now. He couldn't put his hoof on why this was so different. At base, he was unloading crates from a train. His farm work was the same, physically demanding, requiring enough concentration to require his brain to not wander, but here he didn't just feel numb. He felt good. He felt like he was doing something important. Not that upkeeping the farm wasn't, it was, but this was different.
He smiled as he deposited another of the large crates and got a few sideways glances, as these crates were requiring two other stallions to life, he'd lift alone. It always made him smile to see new people impressed by his strength. These workers were the ponies who needed (or a few just wanted and weren't holiday people) the extra pay that comes from working on Hearth Warming's eve. They had expected the "stallion sent by the element of honesty" to be nice but useless. They were quite happy with the fact he was extremely useful to their job.
Though Big Mac wasn't their pay master, and he didn't have a bunch of bits to spend. He gave them each a small note of thanks. He still was a stallion of very few words. All his fellow workers did enjoy their notes of thanks, it was the other letter that made many eyes light up. With their thanks for the work and the notes they went off to finish their work day, and Big Mac turned his attention onward as he lead the train of long range porters to pull the crates through the city to their final destination.
Big Mac huffed heavily as he sweated at the work. The heat was overwhelming, and oppressive. He could only take so much of this before he'd need to take a break. The atmosphere was so oppressive. He could barely see as his eyes glazed over... He blew the steam from the soup pot out of his face and took a step back to get a cooler breath. He really needed to stop letting himself get distracted so much by the soup he was making. Then again, it gave him an excuse to avoid being the center of attention, which he had never been a fan of.
Big Mac hauled (after getting proper hoof coverings, of course) the steaming hot soup pot over to the line of fellow volunteers and slotted it into place, before retreating and letting the servers ladle up the food for those who had some to his rather quickly put together soup kitchen, in Manehatten of all places. He smiled as he went back to the kitchen where he could be out of the lime light, and watched his families' over abundant stores be consumed by hungry ponies in a far away city from his home. Even some of the workers from earlier had brought their families to share in the feast.
It was lucky Big Mac's son, Little Mac had mentioned acquiring a new restaurant that was still left wanting in purpose until at least he new year. And he had has all those stores that he had prepared for a whole winter for a family of ten, but had only himself to eat. He looked around and smiled as all those volunteers bustled around him, and her turned back to make another pot of soup, saying quietly to himself the last thing he could remember his own father, Bright Mac, saying. "Sometimes, we need to provide our own miracles."
