Bringing Christmas in from the Swamp

Most years, our search for a Christmas tree was a challenge of thrifting. We always got our tree much closer to Christmas than most folks do. Sometimes a week before. Sometimes less. This always meant that tree sales of already-cut trees were somewhat discounted. We would find the perfect (maybe a little misfit) tree at a great bargain, throw it in the truck and make it into the best Christmas tree that ever was. That includes the year our misfit tree was so crooked it needed to be tied to the door knob of the unused door behind it to keep it from toppling over. Then again, I always say the best memories are not made because things go perfectly as planned. 

Me as Jo March in the Swamp 

Some years we visited those places where you could cut your own tree. Up and down the rows we went, zig zagging to find the one that was just right. One year this place was a friend's tree line that needed thinning. Options were more limited that round, but we found the perfect one anyways. I'm not sure there is such a thing as the perfect tree. The traditions, memories, and adventures are what make each one perfect.

But the years that were the most memorable were the few we went to the swamp. When Pa’s mama, my Grandma Nina, was young and lived down in the hollow. Grandma saw neighbor Ronald Joslin’s cedar Christmas tree, and it was the most beautiful tree she had ever seen. It smelled amazing and seemed to be perfect in every way. She tried a few times over the years, but it never did happen. Grandpa likely had a few cedar Christmas trees growing up. Their trees came from the swamp on the farm there. No one is around anymore to ask what for of trees they had in those days.

Grandma in a seat of roots made for a Fairy Queen

The story goes that while out hunting for a tree in the swamp, one of my uncles climbed up a cedar tree to cut the top off for a Christmas tree. He fell out of the tree and no cedar tree was to be had that year either. You see, Cedar trees grow a little sparse in branches and usually thicken up nicer towards the top. If you cut them at the ground like a regular Christmas tree there won’t be any branches at the bottom and the will likely be brown. But if you cut them further up the trunk, you get the best results, but only if you stay in tree long enough to cut it.

The swamp that is near and dear to us is made up of small bits of acreage all pieced together over time by my uncle and my cousins. In the old, old days, folks in the nearest town to the swamp all owned their lot in town and a small bit of swamp for cutting firewood. Nowadays, a few of these homes still have the swamp acreage attached. Most folks in modern times don’t have much use for this tiny bit of swamp. It is difficult to traverse both in the physical sense of putting your foot on solid ground, and in the geographical sense that it is incredibly easy to get lost. Pa got mixed up while hunting there one year and used the sound of the highway to navigate him back out to the road. My cousins once dragged a dead deer in a circle in the swamp while trying to use a GPS unit. Uncle Ed, an accomplished surveyor, prefers his trusty compass, and is happy to buy the little bits of swamp here and there creating the perfect place to hunt for a cedar Christmas tree. Provided it freezes hard enough to set foot easily in the swamp.

Pa and the beastly tamarack tree

Uncle Ed’s swamp was land locked, so we hiked in across a neighbor’s field on foot from the road. “We" being Mama, Pa-with a saw slung over his shoulder, Grandma, My Uncle Ed-with a compass in hand, and myself - dressed up like Jo March out for an adventure. We wander along looking at the sights and also searching for the perfect tree. Grandma, Mama, and I weigh in on which trees are our favorites, and which trees have taken on a whimsical appearance with age. The swamp is old and filled with trees aged to whimsical perfection. Pa stops, with his saw still resting over his shoulder, to admire the tamarack trees several feet wide. Tamaracks that large typically aren’t something you see anywhere other than built into the rafters of a hundred year old barn. 

Sawing our tree

We wander amongst the tamaracks and cedars until we find the right one. When we find it, Pa sets to sawing. The teeth bite into the green wood and he works it back and forth. The sawdust falls in a rainbow of browns and soon Uncle Ed is holding the tree Pa just sawed off. I clap my hands excitedly. Pa hoists it onto his shoulder, mama carries the saw. Uncle Ed checks his compass and we head for the truck. 

Christmas greens

Once loaded up, we head our separate ways wishing one another a Happy Christmas until we see them again on Christmas Day. The truck doors close and Pa opens the tea thermos. We have a cup of tea on the way home to warm us up. 

Carrying out the tree
(Probably would have been easier with a horse)

At home, Pa trims the bottom of the tree just right and fits it to the tree stand. Mama sets the tea kettle on and makes dinner. I wait impatiently. No matter how old I get I still hate waiting to decorate the tree. Apparently trees need to warm up, or settle, or whatever. I hate the wait. But Mama insists we do.

Finally after supper, tea is drank and things are cleared. Mama gets down the boxes of decorations. Christmas music rolls from the stereo, at least until Pa trades in Christmas music for fiddle tunes. There was a time when I begged and begged for lights on the tree. Now have simple and crisp white lights. Mama always does the lights. And then the fun part begins! Generations of family and friends pop out of the box of fragile decorations. Almost every ornament we put on the tree has a story. Mama can tell you who made it, or who owned it before we did, and now I can too. The childhood neon paper bell with glitter covered macaroni makes its appearance year after year. The delicate glass swans from great-grandma, the glass ball hand-painted by a local Nun, and the little set of vintage balls Grandpa called the “rudolf” ornaments because they had red paint on the little indentation like an old fashioned light. Those were always my favorites.

The tree settling in for its afterlife
as a Christmas tree

Every year is a bit different. Some years Mama strings wooden beads that remind me of plump cranberries, other years it is ribbon. There are always little miniature Tibetan prayer flags too. Last but not least, our topper. Mama saved the wrapping off of a wedding gift. It is a white dove in a nest. Every year the little dove builds her nest at the top of our tree. She reminds of the season, peace on earth and goodwill toward men. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.