Southern Christmas Part 3 - The Christmas, Un-Christmas Tree

Twas two weeks before Christmas and all through our house stood boxes of last year’s decorations packaged with care now awaiting our attention. The living room ceiling was partially hung with red and green construction paper chains, and the red crepe paper bells were nowhere to be found.

The miniature Jesus nestled in tissue paper slept the slumber of off-season hibernation. Our artificial made-in-America Christmas tree remained in the basement awaiting its fifth call to duty.

Despite the disarray, my wife and I sat outside on a warm southern winter afternoon discussing the fact that several live oak trees had grown too close to a retaining wall meant to protect the rear yard from surge tide should such protection be needed.

I concluded that I must cut them down and decided then was the time.

“But wait,” she cried out with enough pain to give pause to the first brutal saw cut.

After turning to her, I saw deep concern in her eyes and said, “I’ll be careful,” thinking she was concerned that I might get injured. It was a large tree, six plus feet tall and about eight in diameter.

“I want to save the tree,” she continued as if to move quickly beyond what I thought she originally implied.

I looked at her and knew she was not only serious, but very upset over the real possibility that the tree might soon die.

“Enough trees are killed around here,” she added hurriedly as if thinking I would proceed despite her plea for clemency. “If we can save the tree, well, that’s all I want for Christmas.”

“I guess I could move it if you’ll help,” I returned thinking that might change her mind, but knowing we were beyond that.

“Okay,” she said and added, “Do we have two shovels?”

Trapped, I thought. Foiled again! Rats!

“Yes, we have two,” I said calmly and collected our tools, rolled up my sleeves.

For the next hour and a half we dug up three to five feet long surface roots and bundles of short tap roots.

We prepared a hole in the center of the backyard to match the trees’ root pattern and carried, half-dragged the 200 pound tree to its new home.

Finally, almost two hours after the first discussion, the tree stood planted. We managed to avoid losing any large roots, cracked one which should heal fine, and we both felt like something good had been accomplished.

Now, every day, my beautiful wife waters her tree and it seems quite pleased with its new home and the attention she provides, despite the occasional “Well, Bless your heart,” that she cried sarcastically when she got sprayed by a leaky hose.

And about Christmas? We decorated more grandly this year than any past, cut back on gifts, and truly enjoyed our day together with family and friends.





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