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| Oh, our cedar tree |
Christmastree..Christmastree….when will we cut down our
Christmas tree? That question hung in the air until Mom
nudged Dad enough to take care of that yearly tradition.
Finally, we climbed up
into the bed of the 1946 Ford truck and huddled together in frozen air on
frozen metal, and smiled at the very thought of the tree. THE Tree that would be ours, stood on a
white hill watching and waiting for us. Our Tree we exhaled through icy fogged air.
Powdery, fresh snow stays
in my mind even now: stepping and then sinking up to our knees, laughing. Eagerness kept us warm as we raced ahead of
Dad, who strode easily with the ax on his shoulder. This
one?...How about this one?...No! Look,
there is one!
Somehow the perfect tree was always found and Dad cut it down. Hoisting it up on his shoulder, we carried
the starry top, never knowing just how heavy the tree truly was.
Scent of cedar filled the
bed of the truck where the tree barely fit, with us tucked around and through it. We inhaled it cedar air down to our home,
laughing all the way.
