How could I ever forget the memorable trees of Christmases past?
Cutting a fragrant cedar at our old homeplace in the mountains and tying it on our car roof in blustery winds. Sipping hot chocolate, singing carols, hanging thin glass ornaments, one of which often shattered and left my fingertip bleeding. Or the cedar’s vengeful needles seeming to jab all the way to the bones in my fingers.
The deluxe aluminum tree Mama placed strategically in front of the living room’s picture window so passers-by on our country road could enjoy the majestic beauty of shimmering silver branches illuminated in bright colors by the electric wheel turning beneath them.
The petite tree Mama set on the drum table in the living room. My little brother knocked it over.
The stately fir my husband and I found at a convenience store. We newlyweds brought it home, placed it in a stand, watered it, and draped its boughs with lights and gold satin ornaments. That fir brought visions of feathery snow falling softly in wintry forests. In reality, Decembers in West Georgia were anything but snowy. We wrapped our gifts and placed them under the tree. Only a few days remained until Christmas morning. As we settled down to watch holiday TV shows, we heard distinct sounds of needles dropping.
The next day after work, we discovered more needles scattered on the gifts and on the carpet. We realized that, at the current rate of needle droppings, the tree would be naked by Christmas Day. The only time in fifty-two years of marriage, we gave up and pitched our fire-hazard fir out the backdoor while other families were still eating their holiday turkey dinner.
After years of arguing about twisted strings of light, we needed to find a winning solution. We bought a pre-lit artificial tree we could enjoy until Epiphany. As we began the sentimental process of undecorating the house and placing ornaments in storage boxes along with our Christmas memories, we sighed. Even fake trees shed needles.
O Tannenbaum!
Published in the December 2023 issue of Holiday Cheer, an anthology published by Tom Davis, Old Mountain Press.