“Oh Christmas tree, how lovely are thy branches.
In summer sun or winter snow, a coat of green you always
show . . .”
This song was based on a 16th Century Silesian tune.
The use of green as a symbol of eternal life dates back to the ancient Egyptians. Queen Victoria’s consort, Prince Albert, was of German descent and popularized the Christmas tree in England. In 1847 he wrote: “I must now seek in the children an echo of what my brother and I were in the old time, of what we felt and thought; and their delight in the Christmas-trees is not less than ours used to be.”
Vicki, Tom and we fell to reminiscing about Christmas trees, and I’ll bet that many of you have stories about lopsided trees, trees that fell over, trees that became denuded of needles, ones that your cats climbed, and the ones you braved inclement weather to find. No two trees are alike, and those of you who use artificial trees don’t have the unique experiences and memories that we who cherish real trees have.
I understand Prince Albert’s nostalgia. The Christmas tree has always been one of the highlights of my year. Daddy would bring home the tree, and Mother and I would decorate it. Then all of us would go outside and stand in front of our house at the corner of Franklin and Carey to admire it through the window. Sometimes we made popcorn chains to wind around it. I also made chains of green and red crepe paper that ran from the corners to the center of the living room.
I’ll never forget the scraggly, prickly tree that scratched my hands that Daddy brought home one year. One of sister Christine’s trees shed its needles so that she threw it out on Christmas morning. The husband of Bill’s sister, Joyce brought home some wretched trees. She drilled holes in the trunks of trees and inserted branches to fill in gaps and wired wobbly trees to the wall to keep them from toppling over.
One year we bought a tree at a lot on busy Shadeland Ave. Vicki watched through the rear window as we drove home during rush hour. “The tree’s fallen out!” she shrieked. Bill and I jumped out of the car, got the tree and ran back with it while people honked and laughed.
One of our friends caused a serious ruckus when he couldn’t get the tree installed. He finally became so exasperated that he pitched it out the door, shouting “There’ll be no tree this year!” “Boo-hoo-hoo!” cried his little girls. Needless to say, following a consultation with his wife, another tree was bought.
One year a beautiful swallowtail butterfly hatched and flew around until Kitter caught it. We left one tree outside too long. Alas! When we brought it in it smelled of cat’s pee!
“Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree with faithful leaves unchanging . . . “
Not only green in summer’s heat, but also winter’s snow and sleet . . .
Winter’s snow and sleet indeed! Some of our acquaintances relish the experience of going out and choosing a fresh tree to be cut. Bill, Vicki and I went up to Watts Tree Farm on the coldest day of December. We were so cold that nothing suited us. Vicki’s husband, Tom, also reminisced about going out and chopping a tree.
One of the most beautiful stories ever written about Christmas is “A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote that you can find on the Internet. Meanwhile, I feel a deep contentment when I look at our splendid tree that’s decorated with so many ornaments that represent experiences and beloved people, such as a clay heart that Vicki made that says, “All hearts go home for Christmas, for love is always there.” That’s what it’s all about . . . wclarke@comcast.net