Our First Xmas Tree

Our First Xmas Tree
by Celia LeDrew

 On Christmas Eve in 1929, the temperature dropped to seven degrees below zero, with a clear, crisp sky and a thick blanket of snow that crunched underfoot. After three days of snowfall, my father returned home from work early that afternoon. He chatted with my mother on the back porch before heading inside to grab his gun for hunting to prepare for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.
Papa always kept his guns high on the wall, far from our reach as kids. We watched him take down a shotgun before stepping outside, telling Mama, “If I can’t get any partridge, I know I can find a few rabbits.”

Mama was busy in the kitchen, skillfully preparing dinner from whatever she had on hand. She instructed us to watch from the dining room window for Papa's return, hoping he had brought home something for our Christmas feast. My brother and I gazed out at the sunset, the silhouettes of the spruce trees against the brilliant red sky resembling a Christmas card. We spotted movement on a small hill along the road and excitedly shouted for Mama, thinking it was Papa. She came to the window, only to tell us, “That’s not your father; there are two people, and he went hunting alone.” She returned to the kitchen, while my brother and I continued to watch, wondering who the other figure could be, since it was getting dark and seemed too large to be Papa.

Suddenly, Papa entered through the back shed door, carrying four rabbits. Mama was thrilled, as they would serve as our Christmas dinner. After the meal, Papa lit a lantern, announcing he would clean and skin the rabbits for Mama to prepare. When he opened the shed door, we noticed something else inside. Moments later, he came in with a lovely three-and-a-half-foot fir tree strapped to his back, explaining why we thought there were two people. It was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen, lush and perfectly symmetrical. Our excitement was palpable; we were finally getting a Christmas tree. The only one we had ever seen before was at the Mayor’s house, and not many families had them during these tough times.

Mama instructed us to clean up after dinner, promising we would decorate the tree afterward. Everyone helped out, although we had no ornaments, and I wondered how we would adorn the tree. Once the dishes were done, we gathered in the dining room. Mama brought in darning needles and thread, giving me a bucket of cranberries we had picked earlier that month and teaching me how to string them. My brother received a pot of popcorn, a rare treat for us. As I watched him string his popcorn, I noticed he was eating more than he was threading. I alerted Mama, who switched our tasks since no one particularly enjoyed raw cranberries. Once we finished, Mama told us not to hang the cranberries on the tree just yet, as she wanted to do it herself.

She carefully draped the strands across the tree and stepped back to admire it, deciding it needed something more. She handed my brother ten cents and sent him to the store for some molasses candy kisses wrapped in festive paper. When he returned, she showed us how to cut the thread to tie loops around the candies for hanging. As we sat by the warm glow of the Franklin stove, we admired our first Christmas tree, thrilled that we had something so special when no one else in town had one, except the mayor. My brother and I thought it needed a star on top, so we found an old cardboard shoe box, which crumbled as we cut it into the shape of a star.

As we glued it together, arguments broke out over the number of points the star should have—my brother wanted four, while I insisted on five. Mama, acting as the referee, declared my design the winner but insisted it was too large and needed to be trimmed down. We struggled with the scissors, re-pasting the points multiple times. My brother suggested we cover the star in silver foil, which we had saved from discarded cigarette packages, but it wouldn't adhere well to the cardboard. Then we remembered that Mama always bought Red Rose tea in a foil package. We quickly emptied the loose tea into a can, liberating the shiny foil. Soaking it in warm water, we prepared to finish our star.