The year was 1987. It was just three days until Christmas and we didn’t have a tree. The forecast was calling for bad weather during the holidays. My husband and I lived with my elderly Mother at the old homeplace. All of the big family would be coming home for Christmas if the roads didn’t get too bad. Our son, who was in the Air Force, was coming from Texas. Our daughter along with my brothers and sisters and their children were coming to Grandma’s house, too. Christmas trees, family, feasting and remembering the reason for the season were traditions in our family.
My husband had been working late hours, so if we were going to have a tree, I was going to have to get it. On Tuesday afternoon, despite my Mom’s protests of the late hour and the chill in the air, I bundled up and headed out the door. I stopped by the woodshed to get a hatchet and up the hill I went. Trees that looked perfect from a distance were either too tall or too big for our living room. First, it began to rain. Then a mixture of sleet and snow fell, but I was determined to cut a Christmas tree before I returned to the house.
So I chose the only tree I thought would do. The sheep, who had been grazing on the hillside, were gathered around me. It took some Paul Bunyan style chopping and I finally brought the tree down! TIMBER! When it fell the sheep scattered. But they came right back as if to see what I was going to do next. By that time the ground was white and getting slick. I pulled on the bottom of the tree with all my might. It would only move a little bit. One time I pulled so hard that I lost my grip and slid down the hill myself. Amid much “Bah! Bah! Bah! I crawled back up the hill. Then slowly we made our way down – the big Christmas tree, the sheep and me.
We had just reached our back yard fence when my husband came home from work. He was not very happy to see the job I had for him. Well, we couldn’t get the big tree into the house from the back door, so we went around to the front. Those steps were very steep and by that time they were slick as grease from the falling sleet. Finally, we made it up on the front porch. My husband cut a foot or more away from the bottom of the tree and we got it through the front door. But the tree was too tall, it would not stand up. We have 9 foot high ceilings, so we took some more off the bottom and got the tree into its stand. Still, it was about a foot and a half too tall. My Mom watched in amazement and I was beginning to despair and feel quite whipped by the big Christmas tree. Finally, after taking more from the top, it stood up. Glory Bee! We had it!
The tree was still frozen stiff with its branches close to its body. When the heat from the woodstove reached it, the beautiful white pine limbs relaxed and filled up one whole corner of our living room. The next morning I went upstairs and brought down every box marked Christmas that I could find. I put all the ornaments I had on the tree. Still, it could have held more. Our tree lights fitted into silver star reflectors, which were very pretty. That evening when the tree was lit, the sheep who helped me get the tree off the hill were standing at the backyard fence. I wondered if they were looking at the stars that lit up our Christmas tree. For me, sheep and Christmas kinda go together. After all, sheep were resting in the fields around Bethlehem when the beautiful Christmas Star appeared over the stable where Jesus was born.
On Christmas Day our big family had a delicious holiday dinner, exchanged gifts, gathered around the old pump organ to sing carols and remembered Christmases past. Everyone agreed that our big tree was the prettiest one we ever had. Many of my favorite memories were made that year.