RIVER WATCHER
A TREE GROWS FOR CHRISTMAS
Rex Burress
Since more "American Made" live Christmas trees from tree farms are being
recommended instead of the foreign-made artificial trees, I’ve been thinking
about some Christmas tree adventures I have known.
The authentic-looking plastic trees were not perfected in 1940 Missouri
country days, nor was there many tree farms, and in northern MO country where I
lived, neither were there conifers in the woodlands. The only greenery that
would qualify was the Eastern Red Cedar, and a small grove of 50-foot trees grew
on our farm next to Floyd’s Timber.
When snows were on the ground, I kept a bird feeding station under those cozy
boughs as part of my Missouri Nature Knight membership mission. Near Christmas
day, Dad would go down with me as I pulled my sled through the snow, burdened
with hay and seeds. We were out to cut a cedar branch to fashion into a
Christmas tree, greenery that I proudly sledded back to the house. Sometimes two
or three decorated branches would fill a corner, sufficient for Santa to place
gifts. We had no fireplace, but he got in someway!
My Grandfolks lived in the Black Oak community where there wasn’t even a
cedar tree, so they cut a little pinoak that had some brown leaves still hanging
on, and strung some popcorn in the branches.
In speaking of the green value connected to conifers and tree farms, and the
aid to the atmosphere those spiny leaves provide, I’m not sure where the oxygen
came from in those midwestern hardwood forests where leafless trees and gray
timbers dominate the winter. Air was there as I’ve lived to tell about it! I
think it is an Earth of sharing the planetary environment, with winds spreading
things around. Planetary plants and animals have been spread around, too.
In later years when my children were in that prime Christmas age, our tree
was usually a Douglas fir from the store, but one time when living in the
Mayacama Mountains, we went to the dense forest along the east canyon wall,
followed deer trails to the hilltop into a dense grove of baby firs, and chose
one. It was a difficult decision, and when it came to cutting the nominee, that
was difficult, too! There’s something in the tree-lover against cutting a live
tree.
The day in the woods was a memorable pre-Christmas day, even though there was
no snow on the ground, as depicted in a tree-cutting snow-scene oil painting I
gave to the Oroville Chamber. In that White Sulphur Springs canyon near St.
Helena, the winter woods was cozy-green, enhanced by Douglas firs, live oaks,
madrone, and a shelf of redwoods–all evergreens that sheltered mushrooms,
lichens, and moss. There was an ever-flowing hot springs, too, that made you
wonder what was underground.
We sat in the silent circle of redwoods and ate our lunch, fantasying about
dwarfs and fairies that surely must live there in paradise. We always entered
the wooded wonderland-flat shelf under an arched bay tree, crossing our heads
three times while saying "Zingo," a ritual that imaginatively increased our
ability to see something special, and left by the same path, repeating the
appeal that forgave us for cutting one of THEIR trees!
I suppose Fairyland Springs, the acre of chain ferns in the crater basin, the
everlasting Red Treasure Creek, and the trail to Zingo Tree are still there–at
least they are alive in my mind after 35 years since that foray in the forest!
Some things live forever in legend, even though trees come and go in the natural
cycles of life, leaving behind their woody remnants, either to enrich the
soil...or grace a home.
"The woods are full of dead and dying trees, yet needed for
their beauty
to complete the beauty of the living."
–John Muir
"A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of
human life when he
plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never
sit."
–D. Elton Trueblood
No comments:
Post a Comment