Sunday, November 30, 2014

Season of sixty-seven trees

Thanksgiving is finished even if the leftovers are not. Just twenty-five days until St. Nick hops his chubby body into the sleigh for another yearly flight. Tree fever has hit the neighborhood. Tree lots are looking bare, waiting for more newly-cut trees to show up. Chilly weather keeps some from going to the tree farms dashing to the corner grocery instead. The weekend of the tree.

I have been single for a good many years. There are no arguments over which tree is perfect nor anyone to tell me that the tree is too big. I can have crooked tree or one with two tops and have no one to blame but myself. However, I could have used a little help this year getting the tree first out of my trunk then into the tree stand. Three times the tree fell over. Does a tree make a sound when it falls in the forest? Well, I do not live in a forest and the tree did not make a sound in the living room...I did.

Always when I put up the yearly tree, I think of several things. I remember Christmas's back the lane on Neff Road. Dad lifting me up to put the angel atop the tree, the angel with spun glass hair. I flicked the bubble lights to make them wake up and bubble once more. My little hands placed the cast iron ice skating figures on the mirror. Little houses and tiny evergreen trees added with a bit of fake snow made the perfect winter scene.

Then came the Christmas tree hunting with my children. Off to one of the wonderful tree farms here in Oregon. The tree that had a dead bird in it. A tree that fell on a friend who cut it. The perfect tree we found in a woods. The time my son and I rolled a tree down a hill to get it on top of my car. The ropes through the car windows and branches slapping the car. The smell of evergreen around us and on us. Perfect tree hunting days.

There is something about a Christmas tree that makes a house even more of a home. The soft lights and ornaments full of memories warm the heart. God certainly created a wonderful thing when he graced the earth with trees. The tree of the present represents all the trees from the past. Days when my aunts and uncles came to call. When my parents gave their daughter a puppy. A time I cannot recapture. Now new memories I can give my grandchildren.

It is that time of the year. The season of  my sixty-seven trees.

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