A Christmas Tree's Journey

The back corner of the parking lot was crowded, cold and dark. It was freezing out here! We are all shivering and there is this moron yelling “Ho, Ho, Ho” between coughing at the ever-present exhaust settling over us. I heard rumors about this place, nothing substantiated of course, but unsettling, nonetheless.

The streetlight gave off a blueish glow. Since the town switched to sodium lamps to save money, everyplace had a Channukah glow, ironic in December when red, green, and gold were the colors du jour since Thanksgiving.

“Dad, Dad, what about this one?” the girl called from nearby.

“No, Patsy, that one has too many bare spots. Grandma will have a fit if I bring another one like that.” He recalled to the lot attendant the story of last Christmas. He had waited until the last minute and came home with a scraggly tree that was bare on one side. His wife used a hand drill to put holes in, and pruning shears from the garden sniped off branches from the fuller side. Elmer’s glue was squirted in the holes and the newly liberated branches screwed into them, none of which balanced the tree. Some of the resettled branches hung upside down, and the ornaments slid off before the hooks could be pressed into the limb. The tree had to be rotated into the back of the living room and lights were stranded back and forth on the good side only. It was sad.

At eight, the lot lights were dimmed, and the chain went up closing off the lot. Another day ended.

It snowed during the night. Fluffy snow decorated my branches, making me feel oh, so festive. Even with the lack of ornaments, lights, and garland, I looked gorgeous. I tried to hold onto the snowflakes that had settled on me as the sun rose. I wanted to look spectacular for shoppers and prayed quietly for someone to take me home with them. I naturally would have preferred to remain in the forest in Quebec, where I could grow up to be the Rockefeller Center tree, but I would make the best of the situation here in Massachusetts.  I stood tall, and proud intent on learning the English Christmas songs playing on the loudspeakers. There was some crazy song about someone’s Mamer being run over by a reindeer! No self-respecting reindeer would be so cruel. Well, maybe an Alaskan one could, they are known to be ruffians.

Soon, there were shoppers toting their paper bags filled with wrapped presents. I hoped against …that I would be going to a home filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, and the cool of fresh water for my trunk to gobble it up to my needles to keep them from dropping onto the ground. The nearby trees told me what would happen if I didn’t keep looking as fresh as the growing uncut ones in the farm. Dried out needles fell and couldn’t regrow. It was like a razor cut shearing off the beauty and leaving it on the lot turning them to dried, brown shadows of what they had been. No amount of garland could hide the dearth of bare branches. Rumors had it that my sister and brother pines that met this fate were fed to woodchippers. GASP! I shuddered just imagining the death penalty for the sin of losing my needles. I am determined to hold every piece of green on my body.

Noon came. The sun was as high in the sky as it would go in December. The loudspeakers started churning out raucous American Country Christmas songs. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” burred my needles. Mrs. Santa would be livid! And who is this Rudolph with the red nose? A lush delivering presents? A drunken UBER reindeer landing on roofs? Madness! Pere Noel what are you thinking?

The nearby school bell rang, and small children ran towards the lot. Mothers piled out of station wagons scooping up their little ones. A few held hands and ventured near, they cried out. “Please, please!”

“Okay, we’ll look. Hold my hand please. The traffic!” The pairs and trios began to wander through the stands of my brethren. In their midst, an older woman stopped before me. I felt her gaze. “Perk up, perk up” I cried. Every little branch needed to be straight, tall, and fresh. I prayed. I so wanted to be a part of their holiday but was more terrified of the chipper. Grand Mamere reached her coated arm into me to grasp my trunk. I didn’t object to the familiar way she grabbed me, but she twisted tightly and I sensed the snowflakes that had draped me since last night slid off like a bad case of dandruff onto blacktop I sat on. She turned me left and right checking me from every angle. “What do you think, Patsy?”

“I saw this one last night when I was here with Papa. I begged him to buy it, but he said it was too soon” she replied.

“Too soon, it’s the 23^rd. Santa won’t know where to put the presents if there isn’t a tree! She scoffed. “Roger, Roger,” she hailed to the attendant.

“Hey, Maureen, you find a good one” he replied.

“Best one I’ve seen so far. We’ll take it.” Roger lifted me gently and carried me over to the wrapper. While the purchase was completed, I was thrust at lightening speed into a terrifying tunnel. I shivered so hard, I didn’t think my branches would ever relax. Just as I was about to loose every drop of sap from my evergreeness, sunlight reappeared and I was encased in tight cheap looking green plastic shrink wrap.

“Sacre bleu!” I must look like Elton John in this garish garment.” I hoped none of my Canadian brethren saw me in this condition. And now, as I was being loaded onto the roof of the car, I realized I had not said bon soir, or au revoir. I am ashamed.

The station wagon rode through the streets of Dudley. The phone poles were festooned with red and white garlands resembling giant candy canes. We turned onto a residential street. There were lavishly decorated homes decked with lights and life-sized lawn ornaments that swayed with the breeze.

We pulled into a great white house bedazzled in blue and white twinkling icicles. The wreath on the front door had Merry Christmas in gold glitter written on its bow. My new owner, Maureen I think she is called, clutched the base of my trunk where the shrink wrapper ended. Next to the front door she stopped and held me upright and stomped the living daylights out of me. “Grandma, Grandma, you’re hurting our tree!” Patsy cried.

I was thrilled she was looking out for my wellbeing. Soon, I was resting against the door frame. Maureen came out of the garage with huge shears in her gloved hand. She kneeled on the walk, and snipped the shrink wrap all the way to my tip top. Instantly, my branches relaxed, and I wanted to twirl. A few dropped needles fell to the stoop. I gasped, did this mean the chipper! The front door opened and I was carried into the fireplaced living room I had dreamed of, not a chipper! There were lit candles on the mantle above the swag that draped it.

“Mon ami, éblouissant!” I marveled at myself. I was lifted ever so carefully into the stand, balanced, and deliciously chilled water was rushing up into my branches. “There will be no dropped needles on this floor” I adamantly commanded. All my branches were refreshed. I sparkled.

Big, big boxes of ornaments appeared. Patsy grabbed her favorite and started looking for a hook. “Leave it. No ornaments until the lights go on. You can help walk them around the tree. I’ll start at the top and you can hold the strands until you can reach into the tree.” Maureen obviously had done this before. The wired lights soon were aglow on my branches. The best Met Gala look couldn’t outdo my beauty. “Patsy, you can start hanging your ornaments now. Don’t put them all in one little spot.”

The girl listened to her grandmother for about four ornaments. There was a wooden Mikey thanking Grandma and Papa for the weeklong adventure to Orlando. The beautiful hand-blown glass harlequin clown head was handed to Maureen. She carefully hooked it to the front about ¾ up the tree. When she was done, she stepped back to assess my splendor. Ornaments were unclipped and re-arranged so every branch gleamed. My reflection in the picture window confirmed her opinion. WOW!

The living room lights were dimmed, so I was the only light in the room. “Okay, let’s get the garland on and we will be ready for Santa!” Patsy couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Santa, Santa, Santa” she commanded.

“He’ll be here tomorrow night, and not a moment before. And if you aren’t asleep, he could pass us by” she half threatened.

“I promise, Grandma. I’ll be good, I’ll be sleeping” Patsy replied trying her best to reassure my owner. She ran up the stairs to the bedroom intent on proving her words.

I needed to be at my best, too. Pere Noel would be looking.

Christmas Eve day dawned bright and cold. My new home smelled of baking cookies, and mulling cider. The warm scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled every nook and cranny.  Patsy bounced down the stairs, and after giving Maureen a kiss, she plunked down on the carpet in front of me. “I put on this one, and this one, and this one…”. She beamed with pride as she pointed at her favorites.

 Maureen’s ornament was balanced carefully in front near the top. I kept perking up those branches to support the weight of the glass. I knew it was special to her, so it was special to me.

The afternoon flew by. The aroma of cookies gave way to the roasting of meats. The cloves and nutmeg grindings perfumed the spiral ham churning on the rotisserie, and sage wafted through the turkey as it roasted in the oven. The doorbell rang. Roger, the lot attendant, delivered a French tourtière that Lucille had baked. Now I felt at home. Meat pies were the dish that Quebecois adored. Maureen invited him in and retrieved the cookie platter she had prepared for her friends.  “Can I offer you an eggnog, Rog?”

“No, thanks Maureen, I must get another pie to the Beckers. Where’s Charlie?”

“I think he went to Sturbridge to the liquor store.”

“He’s braver than I am doing those back roads in Christmas Eve.”

“He should be back by now. We’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“I have my pennies ready for the poker game. I have been squirreling them away all year.”

The lot attendant left, and soon Charlie came in with a bottle of Wild Turkey in hand. “Maureen, I put the wine in the fridge downstairs.” I remembered him now, from the Christmas Tree lot. He was the one who picked out sad trees. I had no hope he would rescue me, but Patsy and Maureen were more astute. And here I was lighting up his home. He settled into the recliner next to me. As he sipped his bourbon, he gave me glances of approval.

Soon, the home was full of family. Patsy’s mom and dad arrived carrying in armloads of wrapped gifts. They were resplendent. The gifts were distributed around my base, getting at little close for comfort to my water supply. I lowered a few branches to block reservoir as a caution. My reflection in the picture window still looked fabulous. Whew!

Tray tables were set up around the room decorated with hors d'oeuvres and cocktails as the rest of the family gathered. There were so many presents! Was Maureen the Queen of Dudley? Is this how Americans celebrate?

Soon the ribbon and wrapping paper were flying around the room as the grandchildren ripped open their gifts. Everyone ohed and aahed at the toys and clothes. Giant trash bags were overfilled with present detritus. Boxes were gathered up and loaded back into cars to return to homes and the house returned to a calmness. Patsy was tucked into her bed with visions of Santa’s imminent arrival.

I waited. My lights were left on creating a subtle glow to guide Santa. The clunking of plates and silver being loaded into the dishwasher. Charlie and Maureen sat enjoying a moment of quiet before they too, went to bed, not wanting Santa pass them by.

Midnight came and went. I admit, I was tired too. All of the commotion wore me out.

7 AM. The sunrise poked through the living room window wakening me. I am in panic. “Pere Noel, I cried. Why have you forsaken me?” Tears filled my eyes dripping down my branches. My upper branches drooped in sadness. At my trunk I suddenly saw PRESENTS! Pere Noel had come after all. As I surveyed the room, I saw a note on the branch that held Maureen’s special ornament. “Good job, arbre de Noël. I will see you next week and we will return North together". Père Noel.

My spirits soared through the roof. I was loved, I was saved. The chipper would not claim me. Father Christmas, merci.