The Last Tree of the Twentieth Century
After relaxing for three days, the bare blue spruce posed in its stand looking stoically perfect in its metal base hidden underneath the quilted tree skirt. It was 1999, and that yuletide season, we had spotted an eighteen-footer at the annual firefighters’ tree sale and decided to splurge. The conifer was the tallest one we ever handpicked, one meant to adorn our living room that boasted a high ceiling and a growing family.
Setting up our Christmas tree was a tradition our family anticipated each Advent, an activity that often extended over two or three days. The year of the mammoth tree, instead of the usual spot by the front window, my husband wisely placed the tree next to the oak staircase so that he could entwine its trunk and brace it to the handrail. Sugar water kept it nourished but it was up to us to enhance its beauty — nature provided the fragrance, and we draped it with holiday jewelry.
The size of the tree necessitated the purchase of additional sets of string lights to envelop the tree’s full height and girth. We tested bulbs, replaced bad ones, untangled cords, then draped the LED strands around and around the evergreen until the blue, red, green, and yellow looked evenly spaced. Unlike its predecessors, the tree’s magnitude dwarfed the nine-inch star that topped it, diminishing its luminance; nevertheless, it remained at the crown, a tiny, twinkling pinprick nearly grazing the ceiling.
One of the children turned off the lamps lit during the waning daylight so we could assess the glow in total darkness. My spirit twirled and in awe, I quoted Genesis: “And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. And God saw that the light was good.” Evening came and with it, full darkness, except for the gleam of over one thousand lights, thus ending the first day of our creation.
Overnight a pair of boxes filled with ornaments eloped from basement storage to announce the forthcoming tree-trimming celebration. Our collection contained scarcely any typical ornaments, those found in boxed collections on department store shelves. Instead, inside the boxes was a menagerie of figurines, crafted baubles, and keepsakes.
With fervent spirits, a full bowl of red and green foiled chocolates, and plenty of Christmas CDs, the young and their parents set to work. This was an affair for all of us, postponed until all crew members could attend. The goal was to have fun, reminisce, and garnish the tree until every ornament had a holiday home.
Certain ornaments required certain family members to hang them. With wistful affection, I lay claim to a yellow, ceramic angel given to me as a child and a gold-plated pear engraved with a partridge that was a favorite of my mother’s. I also asserted the right to hang a dainty one-inch bell, another token from my childhood, which I made sure elfin fingers could always reach and gently jingle.
Being a coach, my husband hung the basketball-themed ornaments in addition to the “first Christmas together” ornament dated “1980”. As the tallest, he had the honor of hanging the irreplaceable, ceramic ornament painted with the Holy Family since he was best at finding the safest, most secure limb to hang the guests of honor. Fortunately, he also had arms long enough to reach higher branches and the ability to extend safely from the stairs to hang ornaments no one else dared try.
The children made sure Tweety Bird, Scooby-Doo, Bart Simpson, Spiderman, and Cookie Monster found homes among the branches, along with faces of themselves at various stages inserted into stars, angels, and other custom mini-frames. They unwrapped macaroni angels, beaded wreaths, paper snowflakes, and glittered pinecones created in primary art classes and hung them with nutcrackers, penguins, gingerbread men, and tiny teddy bears. My spinster aunt, living states away, decorated from afar, since every year she sent a batch of curious, homemade ornaments she either produced herself or found at church fairs and flea markets.
The legendary spruce we enlisted to close the twentieth century was a challenge to erect and adorn but once finished, the transformation was magnificent. I snapped two photos, one of the tree’s upper portion and one of its lower half, intending to tape the two prints together ensuring that none of us would ever forget that extraordinary evergreen. Its arresting height, its pine-scent fragrance, its lavish color, and its diverse decor are firmly held in my mind, but what I treasure most about that Christmas tree from years ago are the memories of its making and the sentiments it evokes.
