HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2008-12-24, Page 23KEITH ROULSTON
Citizen Publisher,
Rural Voice Publisher, Editor
Getting the Christmas tree in our
family today means a trip to one of
the local sellers of cut trees — often,
I admit, at the last moment when the
choice is simple because more-
prepared tree shoppers have already
picked over the supply.
When I was growing up, at least in
the early years, getting the tree
meant a trip to my uncle’s farm to
cut a tree from his spruce plantation.
There were no evergreens of any sort
on our farm – not even the cedars
that my best friend’s family used
because they were available in their
swamp and there just wasn’t money
for foolishness like buying a tree.
My uncle lived with us because
there was no house on his farm. He
and my father shared the work on
their two farms. Often it was he who
took my brother and me to his farm,
about five miles away, to pick out
and cut a tree.
The pleasure of this mission
depended on the weather each year.
The spruce plantation was at the
back of the farm. In years when
winter started late, we could drive
back a sideroad along the side of the
farm right to the edge of the
plantation. Other years it meant a
three-quarter-mile plunge through
snow drifts that, for a young boy,
were shoulder high.
The amount of snow also affected
the job of selecting and cutting a
tree. The trees hadn’t been planted
out with ease of Christmas-tree
cutting in mind. As they had grown,
their branches tended to overlap. As
you tried to move around one tree to
see if it was even all ’round, you
were bound to brush into the
neighbouring tree’s branches.
If there had already been a heavy
snowfall, those branches would be
laden with snow which would
cascade down on you – inevitably
going down your neck where it hit
your skin which was still hot from
the effort of walking through the
deep snow. Over the next few
minutes it would melt and trickle
lower causing discomfort – at least
until the next avalanche went down
your neck, making you forget the
relatively minor inconvenience of
that first trickle.
Picking the tree was a challenge
because the trees in the plantation
were now starting to really take off.
For little boys, size matters, so my
brother and I were usually urging
cutting of an even bigger tree. The
result was, when we got it home the
tree was always too tall for the room,
even with nine-foot ceilings in the
old farm house.
There was a stove-pipe hole in the
living room ceiling, unused from
when there used to be stove in the
room. We’d joke that we could stick
the top of the tree through the hole
so there’d be a tree in the bedroom
above.
Once we had selected the tree,
there was the long plunge back to the
side of the road where we’d left the
car, the trip made longer by the fact
we were already tired and now had
to drag a tree through the deep snow.
Then, of course, came the task of
trying to find a way to get the tree
home in those days when we didn’t
have a pick-up truck or a van, or
even roof racks on a car.
Eventually we’d get home, get the
too-tall and too-wide tree into the
house, cut a couple of feet of trunk
off the bottom, get the tree straight in
the tree stand and tie it to the wall in
various directions to make sure it
remained upright.
By today’s standards, it was a
thinly-limbed, spindly specimen of a
tree. To we children, who had
no “ideal” tree to judge it against in
pre-television days, it was a thing of
beauty and excitement.
Which perhaps explains why I
don’t worry if I get the rejects at the
tree lot when I’m picking a tree
today. I know in the long run the tree
is beautiful for what it represents,
not for the better thing it should have
been.
And the great thing is at the tree
lot there’s no snow to fall down my
neck.
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2008. PAGE 23. JILL ROULSTONOffice ManagerOur Christmas tree would neverpass muster as subject for a perfecttree in a decorating magazine but it hasits own story to tell of 40 years of ourfamily history.
That tradition began on our
wedding day. We were married on
Dec. 21 (during Keith’s university
Christmas break). When we came
home to our new downtown Toronto
apartment after the wedding, Keith
had surprised me by buying a tree and
decorating it with inexpensive
ornaments from the Woolworth’s store
nearby. Survivors of those ornaments,
never the most elegant or elaborate in
the first place and now a little the
worse for wear, can still be found on
our tree.
So can so many other ornaments
that bring back memories of
Christmases past. I once shared a story
with my daughter Erin about an
ornament I had made for my mother
by blowing out an egg and decorating
it. I told her my mother had kept it for
years. Erin bought a similar ornament
that is still on our tree.
With it now are ornaments she sent
home for me from her trips to China
and Holland. Alongside is a stained-
glass star created in school shop class
by my son Craig, pewter ornaments
that were a gift of my daughter
Christina, some ornaments bought
from my granddaughter Emily for a
fundraising project, and a reindeer
made from a pinecone by my niece
Tara who was part of our annual
Christmas gathering for most of her
early years.
There are also ornaments that
remind me of my favourite aunt, now
deceased, who used them to decorate
her gifts to our kids over the years.Decorating the tree was a familyevent, so much so that when some ofour kids went off to university theyasked that we not decorate the treeuntil they got home to help. We’reusually late setting up the tree —
generally the weekend before
Christmas and we have always used a
natural tree.
Most often Keith and the kids
decorated the tree while I did
Christmas baking. Keith would string
the lights, then the kids did most of the
decorating, with a little more
supervision when they were younger,
relaxing to more freedom as they got
older. The final act was putting the star
on the top of the tree, usually by the
youngest child at that time, perched on
his or her father’s shoulders.
The kids, of course, always thoughtthe tree was perfect.One year the kids got involved increating the decorations by stringing apopcorn garland. Their toddler cousincame for Christmas, though, and it wastoo inviting for him to eat the popcorn.
We kept raising the garland higher and
higher so he couldn’t reach. Photos
from that Christmas show the popcorn
garland looking totally unbalanced
around the top third of the tree.
Our tree stays up until after New
Year’s Day with the tradition being
that the kids and I would take it down
and put away the ornaments,
sometimes having added newones to
the collection to remember that
Christmas by. In this way, the tree
becomes a living inventory of
Christmas memories.
Memories of tree hunting
Built on tradition
The Roulston family clockwise from top left: Jennifer, Keith,
Jill, Christina, Erin and Craig, posed in 1988 for a festive
photo beneath the tree, trimmed as always with a collection
of treasured ornaments, and this year, an ever-higher
popcorn string. (Courtesy photo)
Christmas tree a collection of family memories
At this busy time of year, we’d like to
thank you for stopping here!
With best wishes for a Merry Christmas
from all of us.
From: Max, Jim, Darlene,
& Myke
at
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Just in the “nick” of time, we’re
sending our regards to the
many folks both far and near,
whom we’ve had the privilege
of doing business with this
year.
Hope your holiday delivers an
abundance of joy. Thanks!
Shelley, Barb,
Joanne & Lori
at
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