The Trees of Christmas

History tells us that the Christmas tree was brought to us by Queen Victoria’s Prince-Consort Albert, when he came to England from his home in Germany.  Albert lived in a castle, so he had lots of trees, but we, wisely, generally have only a few.  Many moderately sane people have one.  Completely sane people have that awful ceramic thing with its hard glass sides and fake lights.  It pops out of a box, plugs in, and you are decorated for another year. 

I am not among the sane.   I do only have three trees, presently, unless you count the metal triangular shaped thing in the guest room with its tiny swinging ornaments or the two in my Christmas village. 

I have a long history with Christmas trees. 

In the beginning, I was one of those children whose Granddads had a farm.  He had lots and lots of trees dotting the landscape where milk cows roamed and a creek ran in all but the hottest months of summer.  We cut our trees back then.  Or rather, my father cut our tree.  Mother wanted one, “about your height,” she would say to my father. My father was six feet tall.  Our trees, once home, were usually a good eight feet.  One of my memories of Christmases’ past is the sound of sawing.  It was only minimally drowned out the sound of my father complaining that he said the tree was too tall but his wife wouldn’t listen.  Once up, our trees were tall, full, and beautiful. 

My grandmother, who lived on the farm with my Granddad and the wonderful array of cedars, firs, spruces, and pines, had a different vision for Christmas trees.  Hers were always small, bent, and spare.  My sister and I laughed at the pitiful sight of Mammaw’s trees. 

“But Mammaw, you have a whole farm!” we would exclaim. 

“Well, I like my little tree, Peg Darn It,” Mammaw would say.  (She called cows who annoyed her “Hypocrites,” and said, “Land of Goshen!” when excited.  We never understood her expletives.)

Down the road from Mammaw and Granddad’s was a grocery and appliance store.  It had an enormous candy counter and, at Christmas, a small tree lit by bubble lights.  That tree was magic.  I would stand in front of it watching the oil bubble until dragged away by impatient parents.  I always thought they had, perhaps, lost the magic of the season fighting over our monster tree at home and couldn’t actually see and feel the palpable wonder of that tree. 

My own trees are artificial, save one year in North Carolina.  We moved to North Carolina in a wrenching year that left little wonder or awe.  In my haste to set up our apartment, I sent our tree to storage and kept our ornaments.  The tree was packed behind an 1889 piano with a wrought iron board.  I knew there was no retrieving it.  My husband and I lay in bed and he said it was not a big deal to do without the tree for a year.  I pouted in the darkness.

“During the past two years, when we went through so much, the tree was important,“ I said.”So much was gone, things were falling apart, and then, Christmas would come.  I would decorate the tree, and the lights would reflect in the hardwood floors, and I would think that it was okay; that things would work out,” I explained.

The next day, I went out with the realtor to try and find a more permanent home.  My realtor seemed to think I needed to see every house in Guilford County, and it was long, trying day.  I came back to the apartment and unlocked the door.  I put my coat and purse away, and then turned toward the living room.  In the late afternoon half-darkness I could make out an unusual shape.  It looked like a tree was standing next to the fireplace.  I stood trembling, thinking, “Okay, I have finally lost it.  It was a rough few years, and now I am seeing things.” 

I held out my hand and walked toward the apparition.  My fingers touched the spikey needles and I realized: there really was a tree!  My husband, wanting me to feel at home, had used his lunch hour to buy a tree and stand it next to our fireplace, ready for me to decorate.  It was my only tree that year, but it did make me feel more grounded and at home. 

Now, with three trees, a village, a large snowman, two decorated bathrooms, and bubble lights in the kitchen pass through, I am very much at home.  And my heart is warmed not only by what is, but by all of the trees over the years that live in my memories.