The chickadees have been at my window feeder since dawn. Occasionally they're joined by goldfinches, house finches, titmice, nuthatches, and house sparrows. And from time to time a red-bellied woodpecker flaps in with a ratchety-squawk, proprietorially shoos everyone else away, furtively gobbles a seed or two, then bolts like a burglar surprised while filching the silverware.
While that goodwill Christmas spirit of fellowship and charity may be strengthening daily in most of us, beneath the ol' red-bellied's natty black-and-white houndstooth-checker waistcoat and sporty crimson skullcap, beats a heart as miserly as Ebenezer Scrooge's before Marley came clanking up the steps. I'm thinking a close scare from one of the neighborhood cats that sometimes stalk through the yard, and maybe a few feather-curling sips of strong eggnog, might do that grumpy bird a world of good…which doesn't, I suppose, put my own Christmas spirit in the most magnanimous light.
It's dark and drizzly outside and the weatherman says we'll have rain for the next few days—at least through the weekend. Not cold, just wet. Which is fine, since our time will be spent gift shopping and decorating the Scotch pine we cut down and brought home Wednesday afternoon. We do have some decorations in place already, but for me, it isn't until the tree is up, trimmed with countless ornaments, colored lights, yards of sparkling garland, and glittering icicles, plus the glowing star topper, that the house really seems truly ready for Christmas.
For now, I have a stack of Christmas CDs I'm feeding into the player and the house is filled with beloved music. I put a pot of chili together earlier that's delectably simmering very slowly on the stove. I also have a column to write—though it's deadline isn't until next week—and a few touches on the new woodstove hearth to complete, which means, first, a trip to the big-box hardware store. At the moment, while waiting for a UPS delivery before I leave, I've decided to give into the urge to bake something…the question being, what? Bread to eat with the chili? Or cookies or cake for dessert?
Maybe, if that UPS truck doesn't show up right away, both.
10 comments:
HI GRIZZ - your life on the river and your cozy river cottage are spirited, natural, festive, filled with smells and sights and sounds and love - glorious. I can see your tree all a glitter and the hearth decorated just right - and smell that chili. Our home has a little tree this ear - it was the small 2 foot pre-lit and decorated tree we got my Mom last year - as you know decorating here is a huge event as well and some how completes the feel of the eason - and yet, as i look at this tiny tree, that my Mon loved I am filled with the spirit of her and how she celebrated the true meaning of Christmas - miracles, family, love, our Saviour, traditions and hope, all in one little kind of gaudy fake tree that is more real than the biggest evergreen grown! At first I missed our big tree so much, nd in some ways I still do - but this year as we gather 'round this tiny tree of miracles past, present and future I am reminded that the Christmas spirit lives in each of us and we need only to let it shine.
Love Gail'
peace,,,,,
I hope we are going to be treated to a photograph of your decorated tree Grizz - you make it sound so attractive.
Gail…
You're so very right…it isn't the size of the tree in the room that's makes Christmas—it's the size of Christmas in your heart that fills the room and days and everything you do with the merriment and joy of this most wonderful season. A decorated tree is merely a symbol, a glowing, glittering delight for the eye; the real celebration comes from the spirit of Christmas and its marvelous gift of love that bubbles in your soul and flows throughout your life.
But you know that already. Anyone who reads your lovely comments can see into your heart. The spirt of Christmas does, indeed, live in you, and you bless us all by letting it shine so truly bright.
As tears flow I "thank you" for 'seeing' and 'knowing' and believing and caring and I could go on and on. I just left a big ole syrupy comment on your other advent post, my God.....
Love Gail
peace.....
Weaver…
Since you asked, I'l try and do just that. In fact, I still need to put up a shot of the redone front door I wrote about some weeks ago, and there's the soon-to-be-finished new woodstove and hearth. Maybe I'll just do a Christmas triptych.
Gail…
Meant every single word, too—and anyway, it's just the obvious truth to anyone who reads or knows you. A little syrupy, maybe (though you said that, not me), but possessing the heart of a lion and proving repeatedly unsinkable. How could that not be inspiration and blessing to all?
Oh, Grizz.... from a city rat who works in one of those big boxes....
Please post a picture of your tree when it's ready. This is why.... A Scotch Pine. I want to see what a 'real' Scotch looks like fresh from it's home.
Here in the city it's different and always has been.
In the asceptic world I live in, Scotch pines are weed trees. They come in painted and priced cheaply. We don't sell many until push comes to shove... but those that do sell early are usually chosen by black or hispanic families. Oddly, I'd say more than half the time the trees picked are the ones still wrapped in netting so that their shape can't be seen and the owner is surprised when we explain they need a fresh cut for them to last a while. It all seems like a quick, not-so-happy purchase.
Later trees are usually sold to people who don't seem to have much money and I save my corporate margins for them (and train my people to do the same) in order to sell them out at a much lower price. Everyone who wants one should have a tree.
Still, I dislike Scotch pines. They do have a pretty shape, but their needles are terrifyingly sharp and they all look the same to me.
I want to see one that's been chosen, is in it's natural state and is probably glad to be fulfilling it's destiny somewhere in your house.
Robin…
I'll do that—post a shot or two. This is what you might call a semi-natural tree… meaning it was grown on a big tree farm I've been going to since the late-60s or early-70s; decades, anyway. They grow a half dozen or more evergreens, and have grown practically all of them over the years, on their several hundred acres. My least favorite for a Christmas tree is the white pine—though I've had plenty of those, too. But the clump of needles on the end of the branch just doesn't look like a Christmas tree to me, and I don't like how ornaments sometimes hang. This year, in a nostalgic nod to some of the trees Mom and Dad bought off the tree lot of the old A&P Grocery Store back in the mid-50s, it was a Scotch. They are prickly, but they're usually dark green (as opposed to pale and sometimes yellowish, like some evergreens I could name) and while sturdy, being rather open in limb arrangement, really give you lots of room for hanging ornaments and such. I think my favorite trees are the firs, Balsam, Frasier, Douglas. Down South lots of folks like red cedar or Virginia. I also like the spruces, though you have to take good care of them to keep the needles for weeks—but they can smell nice.
Soon after I started this blog I wrote about bringing home the Christmas tree:
(http://riverdaze.blogspot.com/2008/12/bringing-home-christmas-tree.html
Go there, read that, you might like it. (Many of those old posts became just one long paragraph displayed in a huge font after Blogger's re-do a couple of years back, but I just quick cleaned this one up enough to make it readable.) It's the same sprawling farm, and same story as the other day, except this year the weather was in the upper-40s. We underdressed for the prevailing wind so still like to froze to death. I get older, the fields get vaster, and the trees heavier…but I don't seem to get much smarter. And naturally the one we picked and cut down to cart out was it the very corner of the biggest field on the far side of the highway—plumb near a mile as the turkey trots. And the turkey isn't dealing with a 12 foot Scotch pine and a cranky woman.
Re: your last sentence.... how I needed that laugh!
Love the very clear description of getting the tree (I followed the link). I have never cut my own but I have many fond memories, nonetheless.
My mother and I used to go to the parking lot of a closed motel (since it was winter, in Kentucky, on a rural road). They had the single strand of large, garishly colored lights hung from one pole to the other for decoration. One year she fell in love with a particular tree. It was huge (we lived in a pre-Civil war house with 12 foot ceilings) and the tree guy told us it was quite old. I remember the price was $60.00 (in around 1972). She bought it and swore me to secrecy.
When I moved to the city we had to rely on tree lots in our neighborhood and near the apartment. So, for many years my roommate and I would carry the huge tree home in the snow, with people cheering us on along the way.
Thanks for the great memories, Grizz.
Thank you for reading. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece. The memories and reminder are my pleasure. Nothing pleases me more.
"Tree lots" were where we got our Christmas trees when I was growing up. Then this tree farm I wrote about opened up a couple of miles from the house—several hundred acres, a variety of species, the fun of searching around, cutting your personal tree, and triumphantly carting (well, carrying/dragging until maybe five years ago) it out and home. The appeal to us hunter/gatherer types was instant. And being Scotch-Irish, the fact the price was less than half that of "lot" trees was no small matter. I have a cathedral ceiling, about 18 ft. at the peak; I usually get a 9-11 ft. tree. My tree last week, including shaking and wrapping, was just $30, which is up from $27 last year. For a couple of decades it was under $20, early-on, well under. And they're nice, healthy, well-cared for and shaped trees; any runts not being the fault of the growers.
Also appealing, the family who owns the place has a huge barn near where you check out, with a stone fireplace big enough to hold a small car—that's always blazing, there's lots of seating close; they pop corn (free) if you want to munch while you rest and warm; the place is decorated, plus there're handmade wreaths for sale and a few pre-cut trees, and the air is redolent with woodsmoke and pine; Christmas music playing; a patient and well-behaved though sometimes loud old donkey to pet (mind your fingers); and hot cocoa, tea, coffee, soup, and hotdogs at a little stand outside if your walk and tree-cutting has left you hungry.
Sometimes, before Myladylove was around, or when everyone else has been too sick or out of town, I've been out there wandering the fields looking for that perfect tree all by my lonesome—not another weather-ignoring Christmas-inspired idiot in sight. But I have looked amid sleet storms, blizzards, and when the snow was two feet deep and still coming down. And almost always—even when it was unseasonably warm—there has been a wind blowing from the miles of mostly open fields beyond the farm. That can fool you as to how to dress—at least it fools me. Living in Chicago, you likely know what a 30 mph wind on a -10˚F day feels like…now imagine that three-quarter mile walk (having already walked God knows how many miles while looking for that perfect tree) back—and the perfect trees are always in the farthest corner; it's a cosmic law—to the barn, by yourself, carrying/dragging a big tree. The only thing that keeps you going are thoughts of that roarin' fire and the chance to commiserate with the donkey
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