Ye Olde Christmas Tree – Part Two

. . . .continued from Ye Olde Christmas Tree – Part One.

As you may recall in yesterday’s post, Part One of Ye Olde Christmas Tree, Harold and I found the perfect tree out back of our house, but we gave it away to my daughter, Christie, and her husband, Sean.  That left us, again, with no tree.

We talked about not having a tree at all, but decided that we were not ready to go that route.

We have a fake tree out in the garage, but we stopped using it a number of years ago.  We bought it because we thought that the cats would be less likely to bother a fake tree.  Wrong!  As soon as the lights went out at night, Isabel became “The Cat That Climbed the Christmas Tree.”  She would totally dismantle the tree and we would have to put it back together again the next day.  She even pulled limbs off the tree.

Fake was out.

The Quest

So out we went once again to look out back for a Christmas tree.  We strapped Bennie into his harness so he could go with us.  As you will recall, our two options (or non-options) were the 40 foot Griswold Christmas tree, or Sean’s half a Christmas tree.  We headed out of the yard in a different direction.  Maybe the second perfect Christmas tree lurked somewhere else on our property!

We did not follow a trail this time.  The footing was a lot more difficult off the trail.  The frost was really coming out of the ground.  In one spot, we saw a foot square patch of hoar frost that was truly beautiful with crystals popping out of the ground.

As we went cross-country, we had to leap over frozen puddles, avoid rocks, and dodge deep holes. We trudged past more deep poop, this time quite fresh.

Harold was ahead of me when I called to him to check out a tree.  It was not our perfect Christmas tree, but it was better than half a Christmas tree.  Harold cut it down.  There was a serenity to the woods.

The Tree Goes Home

Harold shouldered the tree and carried it home. He set it up for me in its place of honor in the living room.  Everyone was happy with the decorations.  Once more, the tiny lights on the tree shone out with jewel brilliance.  The ornaments gathered over a lifetime proudly hung from the branches.

As Harold and I sat back and gazed in awe at the beauty and simplicity of the tree, I asked Harold if he had heard movement in the woods just before he cut the tree down.  Harold replied that a deer had been watching us.  We sat quietly for a few moments.  I said, ‘Harold, I think you are probably right, but I could have sworn that I heard a ho, ho, ho.’

I think that this tree is perfect in another way. . . .

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