I now use artificial trees, sound strange?, well yes it does to me also because I'm surrounded by trees, tiny ones that could be kept in a flower pot, and some giants that were planted before the Civil War. And though I certainly could cut almost any tree down for my Christmas celebration, I don't. Another hint, all of my a trees are artificial and second hand. Many if not most of my decorations are from Thrift stores, some are hand me downs and one very famous little glass ball was found on by my Dad years ago, abandoned by a parking meter...it needed a good home, a home with a sense of humor, because it was clearly stamped with the number 5 enclosed in a circle, the 5 and 10 version of a price tag, so my dad brought it home, and here it has stayed.
As usually, off topic, this was supposed to be about that long ago day when my Dad and I walked up to the edge of the woodlot and I got to pick the Christmas tree.
I felt very grown-up. Even though there were spots where the snow was over my knees, and my boots. gamely crawled under the tree we selected, and began to saw away with a rather small saw that had a home made handle. Patiently I worked on the trunk until Dad took a hatchet from the pocket in his plaid wool hunting coat, {which still had a bit of dear hair on it from the deer I shot with the help of Dad and my uncle yesterday smelled alot like that deer also }
told me "Let me finish this, stand back and watch." With a couple of angled chops the tree was down, and I was glad. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a small thermos of coffee, we both had some, as we studied the beauty and stillness of the winter woods. I spotted some tracks that looked very much like those of out turkeys. We stood still and listened to the sound of the wind, then he said, "Lets get back , your Mother worries too much."
Dad tied an old clothesline around the tree trunk and said " OK, partner, Pull!!!!!" so I did, and promptly feel backwards into the snow,looking up I could see his big Cheshire cat smile, and his outstretch hands. He pulled me to my feet and dusted off the snow, 'Here let me help you' and he grabbed onto the rope, we dragged that tree back to the house, where my Mom was waiting impatiently "soups getting cold, put those wet boots by the fire."
My house was warm, and at this point my feet were really cold, and I was covered with snow, thought for sure Mom would say something about how girls don't cut down Christmas trees or shoot deer, but she didn't.
