O' Tannenbaum
By Ada Grier

At home on our prairie farm, we always had a real evergreen tree inside the house for Christmas. Our German mother insisted upon this luxury. As soon as they arrived at our country store, she sent one of my brothers out with the truck, to bring one home.

Setting our tree up in the music room, we strung coloured lights around it and added the few baubles we had saved over the years. Boughs were tucked up around the pictures on the walls and the smell of pine was wonderful.
It was the tree lights that dazzled our mother. Each evening she would plug in the lights and sit “for a spell” in the darkness admiring the tree. This went on all through the holidays and sometimes I sat beside her just to savour the moment and the warmth of her smile. Throughout January she kept her nightly vigil with the tree and sometimes on into February. Slowly more and more needles dropped off till only spindly, rust-coloured boughs were left to hold up the lights and only then with sadness did she reluctantly throw it out. The same thing happened every year.

When I moved away from home into nurse’s residence, the student nurses were enlisted to help decorate a huge tree by the fireplace. The tree twinkled amid antique ornaments and ropes of silvery tinsel. A Christmas tea was served and we were coaxed to circulate about the room, cup balanced carefully on saucer making light conversation. One of our classmates quietly played holiday music on the piano as we learned social skills befitting our profession. This was “nice and all” but it sure wasn’t home.

The years rolled by and I found myself married with a young son, living in Montreal. Along Ste. Catherine’s the Christmas trees were opulent, a far cry from our simple prairie tree.

My young son Johnny watched as a shopkeeper decorated his tree with wide ribbon, big fans and huge ornaments until the tree was completely covered. Pleased that my son was happily occupied I accomplished a fair bit of shopping but as I walked back to collect him I heard Johnny loudly proclaim, “Don’t you think it’s a little bit overkill!” It was one of those “Dennis the Menace” moments that brought such a scowl from the shopkeeper that my son sucked in his breathe and slipped out the door ahead of me.

Several Christmas-times later in Kingston, Ontario, now with two sons, my hubbie decided we would go out and cut down our own tree. This special tree was hauled home over snow-covered roads on the top of our old station wagon. It was a new experience for me and I decided right there and then, it would be our “best tree” ever.

We spent many evenings stringing garlands of popcorn. Small red apples were polished and tied on with ribbons amid the candle lights. Our two year old Jesse, with long blond curls, helped hang gingerbread men over the branches. In his excitement he ran into a cupboard door and bumped his eye which took on some strange colours.

After Jesse quieted down and fell asleep, friend hubbie placed our presents as well as a spring ride’m horse beside the tree for Jesse to find in the morning. Together, with our oldest son we admired the tree we’d worked so hard to create.

Morning came early and I heard little feet padding downstairs, then squeals of excitement. Sneaking down for a glimpse, we hooted in laughter for there beside the tree was our two-year-old with not a stitch of clothes on, riding his spring-horse, wild with happiness, blond curls flying and a huge black eye! He was deliriously happy, not the least concerned with his eye or anything else....

I scurried for my camera and there in the background for us, still today is that beautiful tree with its garlands of popcorn, a special Christmas memory.

Some years later we moved to Vancouver. It was here that we purchased our first Christmas tree, alive and growing in a pot. In keeping with the nature theme, we decorated it with twinkle lights, pine cones, and clusters of red holly berries. Our boys, admiring its simplicity, dubbed it the “twinkle tree.” With the holiday season over we planted it in our yard.

Today, it has grown tall and lovely. Although we have long since moved from that house, each Christmas we drive back to spread shiny, silver icicles over its massive branches. Sunlight catches the icicles as they move in the breeze and as we leave, our “twinkle tree” sparkles all over again.

0’ tannenbaum, o’maker of Christmas memories, there is something magical about you.