Our Christmas Trees; Glorious Monuments of the Season

Following is an excerpt from my book The Red Jacket. Since Sam and I have seen so many vehicles drive by lately with Christmas trees tied on top of them, I thought you readers might enjoy this excerpt – which is loosely based on a real experience. 

Uncle Benny’s tree farm encompassed ten acres of rolling hills. Even though the rain was falling hard, our hunt for the perfect tree managed to retain a distinct holiday flavor. We tramped through wet leaves and mud puddles, uphill and down, stopping at almost every one of hundreds and hundreds of possibilities; white firs and Douglas Firs, pines, cedars, and varieties of trees I’d never even heard of.

Each tree was judged on whether its form was symmetrical enough or its branches thick enough, or if it was tall enough, or if it would stick out too far from the wall when we placed in its corner at grandma and grandpa’s house.

We must have spent a good two hours slogging around looking at trees before we finally decided on one. By that time we were muddy from head to toe; slipping and falling on the mucky ground, and thoroughly wet, soaked clear through by the falling rain and from brushing past trees whose branches were laden with moisture.

We had a great time, nonetheless, singing Christmas carols, making constant wisecracks and carrying on like a carousing band of filthy little elves bent on enjoying themselves no matter what the conditions. Our tree of choice turned out to be a stately white fir about eight feet tall. Its blue-green branches were exactly bushy enough and it didn’t seem to have a serious ugly gap anywhere. Uncle Benny produced a bow saw and began cutting through the thick trunk. I thought of that song Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree.

I was struck momentarily with profound sadness that this beautiful living thing was coming to the end of its days before it had a chance to totally grow up and reach its full height and grandeur. I prayed for that tree and beseeched God to have mercy on us for cutting it down. I promised God that we would decorate this tree so splendidly that it would become a glorious monument to the birth of his son Jesus.

After a while uncle Benny asked grandpa if he wanted to have a go with the saw. I said I’d like to try my hand at it, so grandpa handed me the saw and told me to “let ‘er rip”. I tried squatting down to get under the tree’s branches to do my sawing, but that didn’t work real well.

Because my body was at such an awkward angle, the bow saw kept binding and wouldn’t cut cleanly. Of course my sister was thoroughly enjoying the fact that I couldn’t seem to make the saw work correctly. I finally abandoned any attempt not to get wetter or muddier, and since I wasn’t wearing my new red jacket grandma had just bought me, flopped down on my belly and made myself comfortable. From that position I finally was able to guide the bow saw smoothly through the tree’s trunk.

When I felt like I had sawed all the way through the tree trunk I yelled, “Timber. Somebody grab it.”

Grandpa and all the little kids grabbed hold of branches and tried to keep the tree from falling. Of course it fell anyway. We all took turns dragging the tree back to Uncle Benny’s house, then Uncle Benny and grandpa tied it on top of grandpa’s old Ford.

“How much I owe you,” grandpa asked Uncle Benny.

“Don’t be silly,” Uncle Benny said. “You’re my brother. You don’t pay nuthin.”

“You can’t make a living that way,” grandpa insisted.

“Don’t insult me Alphonse,” Uncle Benny said. “It’s your Christmas present.”

“Merry Christmas,” grandpa said, bear-hugging Uncle Benny. ”You’re one crazy WOP, but I love you.”

Aunt Margaret came out of the house then carrying a bag of cookies. She handed the bag to Loretta.

“Take these home with you,” Aunt Margaret said. “Tell your grandma and your mother Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” grandpa said to Aunt Margaret. Then he bear-hugged her too.