Back left to right: Mom and Pop Bottom left to right: Me and my sister, Mary
Far left: The Sad Christmas Tree
I’ve told the story about foraging for a Christmas tree
before, but I wanted to tell it again now that I’ve found a picture of that
tree to show you.
Every Christmas season Mom would want a Christmas tree
because she was a believer in decorating for the holiday to the fullest
capacity. Naturally, the task of foraging for that tree fell on Pop, my sister,
and me. As much as I loved Christmas trees, I dreaded that trip into the pine forest.
It required sturdy jeans, warm gloves, layers of clothes, and a pioneer to get
the job done. Pop did not allow any whining along the way—and there was quite a
way to go.
First, we had to walk past the backyard, through whatever
was left in the garden, beyond the orchard, into the woods. Then the real
journey began as we went down the hill to the little creek, up the steep bank
over old oak trees that had fallen here and there until we reached the briar
patch. Our dog, Ember, the Irish setter, was all over the place chasing tiny
woodland creatures and cover in beggar lice and cock-a-burrs (getting them out
of her fur was a chore for later.)
The briar patch was a wide strip of blackberry vines
heavily protected by sharp thorns. No matter how hard we tried, those thorns
caught on our clothes, scratched our hands till the blood came, and even
pierced our heavy duty jeans. We would have to step high over the bushes to
avoid the worst of the thorns. After a while our hips hurt and we were tired
tuckered out—and we hadn’t even reached the pine forest. Ember was bouncing
around, barking and running hither and yon, so at least one of us was happy and
had some energy.
It seemed that every year we picked the coldest day to go
looking for a Christmas tree because, by this time, we were all frozen, our
hands were numb, and we just longed to get back home and get something hot to
drink and warm up.
On this particular year our grump trio finally reached
the pine forest and the end of our enthusiasm. Pop was the one who suggested we
just get the first tree we came across and scurry on home. My sister and I
heartily agreed. Pop and I did this one year when I was the only one still at
home. We lucked up finding the best tree we ever had, but this was not that
year. We took down the first tree we saw that was the least bit decent and
headed home with it. The journey back to the house seemed to take more effort
and we grumbled the whole way home. But I’m here to testify to the fact that
Mom was happy with that tree. She didn’t complain about how shabby it looked,
not even once.
I tried to get Pop to buy a tree one year, but oh my
word, I may as well have asked him to turn over his life savings. He stared at
me like I had told him I was giving up my citizenship and defecting to Russia
for a moment before he let loose on me about the cost of buying a tree and how
it just wasn’t American or something like that. I thought he was going to
disown me. I never asked to buy a tree again.
For all the aggravation it was going into the forest to
find a Christmas tree each year, I miss those days. I miss being in the forest,
letting the dog run free, and finding our own tree. I miss the joy on Mom’s
face when we brought the tree into the house, and I miss Pop making us take
that dreaded trek into the woods to fetch that tree. I’m glad at least to have these memories to
treasure.
Did you have to take these treks into the woods for a
tree or did your family have a different tradition? What is your favorite childhood
memory of Christmas or the holiday season?
