A Snowy Summer Day

The scorching July sun beat down on my neck, a bead of sweat trailing slowly down the collar of my shirt signifying its oppressive heat. Summer was everyone’s favorite holiday; but for me, it was just another reminder that the Hallmark-like Christmases, hot chocolate and peppermint-tinged pastries were still months away. Mama doesn’t like us in the house in the summer, she says its to pretty a day to be wasted inside, so we spend our summer days in a treehouse on the back forty acres of our small farm. Usually, my older brothers would join me; but alas, childhood is over all too quick and they’ve received the unjust punishment of summer jobs. So, I have the treehouse all to myself this year.

I walk over to the big oak tree and look up. The treehouse sits high in the branches, a splash of pine against the twisted, oaken fingers. Daddy rebuilt the ladder last year, after Bub took a fall from the top rung, and I couldn’t wait to be the first to climb up that smooth, new ladder. I climb for what feels like a hundred feet, but really it’s probably only fifteen, and I make it to the very top. Looking out over the expanse of our grassy fields, cattle grazing lazily throughout, I realize that this is my kingdom. This is where I rule and roam and make the decisions. With my newly garnered title of Treehouse Queen, I make a snap decision. I hate summer, I hate the heat and the sweat and the bugs, so I have decided that it’s Christmas.

From my high perch in the treehouse, I scope out a prospective Christmas tree. It wouldn’t be a yuletide party without a proper tree, would it? There are loblolly pines all over our farm, and I think I’ve spotted a knotty little sapling that will do just the trick. I grab the saw that Bub keeps in an old trunk and climb down from the treehouse, making my way to a thicket of young pines. The sapling is only about three feet tall, but will make the perfect festive addition to my Christmas in July. After a few minutes of sawing through its narrow trunk, the little tree falls to the ground with a thud. Dragging it back to the treehouse proves to be hard work, even over just a short distance but I manage to get it back and up into the house with some imagination and a little sweat. I guess being queen also comes with some newfound strength.

After a few hours of work, the dusty treehouse looks as though it could be artwork on a Hallmark card. It reminds me of the Swiss Family Robinson movie Bub always watches. It’s an oldie but goodie, and there’s a scene where the shipwrecked family decorates their makeshift home with beautiful, tropical Christmas trees. I imagine myself to be stranded here on my own island, the grassy hills like white-capped waves of the ocean. The cattle and wildlife that dot the landscape act as vicious sea creatures surely on their way to ruin my holiday fun. “Better make this celebration quick, then,” I think to myself. I make ornaments from pinecones and sweetgum balls, tying them to the lanky little tree limbs with a Johnsongrass stem. I string together some tinsel out of the yellow, flowery weeds that grow everywhere here in the summertime and they add a pop of bright, sunburst color to the Christmas tree. Movement to my left catches my eye. There, sitting on the window of the treehouse, is a bird. “Hello little snow fairy,” I coo as I inch closer, “welcome to our Christmas wonderland.” Suddenly, right before my eyes, the little black bird slowly turns white. It’s as if there a paint sprayer making its way from head to tailfeather. Each wing is tipped with snowy, white glitter and a crown of sparkly snowberries sits atop the fairy’s head. With the snow fairy’s transformation, the rest of the treehouse follows suit. The temperature drops frigidly, biting my skin with its frosty fingertips; the piney walls of the treehouse are transformed into red and white striped wallpaper, like living inside a candy cane; and the windowsills are suddenly steeped with mounds of fresh, powdery snow. Somewhere in the distance, the wind whistling its breezy tune begins playing the melody to “Jingle Bells.”

Standing in awe of the magical treehouse transformation, my heart swells in the way that only a little Christmas cheer can make it do so. My snow fairy friend has invited some of her flutter and they line they line the windows and railing of my Christmas castle, waiting on their holiday gifts. I grab a few earthworms from the bait and tackle box I brought with me and toss them to my hungry subjects. They chirp along to the wind’s continuing Christmas playlist and my kingdom comes alive with jolly cheer unmatched even by the North Pole. I twirl around the creaky floor and revel in my wintry surroundings and – “HOLLYYYYYY! Are you there?” My yuletide wonderland comes crashing to the ground; I look around and everything is back to its dull, wooden brown. Bub pokes his head through the hole cut in the floor that serves as the front door, “What are you doing in here? We’ve been looking for you for hours!” I glance outside and see that the sun has long since gone down, my grumbly stomach notifying me that it’s well past suppertime. Bub follows my gaze to see what I’m looking at and shrugs. “Stupid boy,” I think, “I guess adulthood takes away your ability to see the magic.”

We climb down the ladder, my whole body begging me to stay in my kingdom as I step down each rung. The grassy hills are no longer icy, Arctic Sea waves, but just the dull, green stems of a late July forage. But I swear that if I squint my eyes a little and look closely, I can still see icicles dangling from their seed head. As I open the door to Bub’s rusty pickup, I turn back and take one last look at my castle. The stifling heat closes in around me, but in my head there’s still snow swirling in droves to the tune of a jingly Christmas melody.