By Linda Ibbitson Hurd
Special to the Express
Our Dad was very particular about Christmas trees and the right way to put them up. Every December, when it was time to get our tree, the four of us kids would bundle up and follow him through the snow across our back yard and field, past the brook and blueberry patch and up into the pine grove to pick one out.
We all had a say in which tree we liked the best. Dad always seemed more patient, relaxed and happy in the woods, taking his time and even smiling. When we all agreed on which tree we wanted, he’d chop it down. He pulled it behind him as we plowed back through the snow, following the path we had made on the way to the woods to make the going easier. When we got back home, Dad propped the tree up beside a bucket of dirt near the kitchen door as it was closer to the living room. He told us to go in through the back door shed and take off our boots and hang up our coats.
Once inside, Jingles our cat would meow and walk in front of us as if to tell us to follow her. Mom called to my younger brother and sister from the living room, saying she needed help to lay an old sheet on the hardwood living room floor, then asking my sister Penny and me to carry the big box of ornaments in from the storage shed.
We could hear Dad outside moving the dirt in the bucket around with his shovel. He opened the kitchen door and stuck his head in, asking Mom if she was ready yet. When she was, Mom, Davey and Barb stepped off the sheet and Penny and I put the big box down on the hearth in front of the fireplace while Dad wiped his feet on the mat and brought in the bucket of dirt. He placed it in the middle of the sheet and told us all to stand back while he brought the tree in. Jingles was perched on the arm of the couch and as the tree came in the door, she dove under the coffee table, her eyes as big as saucers.
When Dad would step down the two steps into the living room with the tree, Jingles usually took off like a shot, running into the other room. It made us laugh and we figured she was hiding under the dining room table or one of the beds. Every year it was a ceremonious occasion as Dad carefully carried the tree across the room, placing it snugly into the bucket of dirt he so carefully prepared. He watered it and packed it in some more until he was satisfied. He told mom to let it set while we had supper and then we could decorate it.
Our favorie Saturday night supper was hotdogs and beans. While mom was getting it ready and after Penny and I set the table, the four of us watched our favorite program, “Roy Rogers,” with Dad. While we watched, Penny and I finished stringing popcorn and cranberries to put on the tree and trying not to eat it. Jingles quietly came out to have some of her supper and disappeared again.
When supper was over, all of us were excited about trimming the tree.
Dad always went first, placing the star at the top and then adding the tree lights. The garlands of popcorn and cranberries were next and then came the ornaments. Each of us had a favorite one and some survived the test of time; I still have several. Mom and Dad would lift Barbie and Davey up so they could hang their ornaments on the branches they chose. Mom preferred to string the tinsel herself as she used it sparingly which always made a beautiful final touch.
We were almost finished decorating the tree when Jingles generally showed up on the two steps that came down into the living room, perched on the top one, her tail switching wildly. Dad stamped his foot and clapped his hands and away she ran.
Mom reached for the box of tinsel and Dad plugged in the tree lights. I heard something and looked up. Before any of us could do anything, Jingles leaped off the step and was flying through the air like a jet at top speed landing head first high into the tree. Dad let loose with a stream of expletives that were more colorful than the Christmas decorations. Jingles got her bearings and soared back into the air, landing on the kitchen floor, clawing the linoleum as she raced to get away and almost crashing into the wall turning the corner to get into the dining room. Mom and us kids were laughing so hard we couldn’t stop. Dad disappeared down into the cellar, slamming the door behind him. We went with Mom to find Jingles to see if she was okay, which she was. She sat washing herself as if she was very proud.
When Dad came back he had a hammer and screwdriver in one hand and a metal object in the other. He went into the living room behind the tree where there were two windows. He screwed the metal piece into one of the window frames behind the curtains. He informed us that from now on there would be a rope tied to the inside of the tree attached to the metal holder that would keep it in place and withstand any mishap. It may still be there to this day.
Like Jingles, Dad seemed very proud of his solution. We helped Mom and Dad fix the tree and interestingly enough, had no more problems with Jingles.
Linda Ibbitson Hurd is a resident of Halifax who grew up in Hanson in the 1960s in a much gentler time.