It began with my younger brother stumbling across a photograph of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree—stunning in fact. It was taken in 1954 but was entirely typical of the many nearly identical and similarly breath-taking trees I’d enjoyed by then for ten Christmases and he for eight and our still younger brother for four and which we and our not-here-yet younger brother would enjoy for years to come.
The sixth and last time our family moved, till then bouncing from increasingly inadequate—given increasing boys—rent to rent, was in 1958, to a wonderful and wildly spacious old Victorian mansard our folks had just purchased, having been saving for ten years so we could have a place of our own and the boys—one then approaching adolescence—could each have a room of his own.
Now the magnificent Christmas tree finally had ample room to spread its glittering branches and preen in the full width of a big bay window overlooking the neighborhood and village below. And we, each brother, could spread his wings unimpeded as well—in a room of his own—albeit to less glorious effect. It was the most stunning day of my life—not to be confused with being “swept off my feet,” which came later.
The Christmas tree selection process would begin with us piling into Dad’s truck and driving around remote parts of the island…
Dick shared the photograph with me and our two younger brothers which in turn prompted personal recollections from each of us.
“The Christmas tree selection process would begin with us piling into Dad’s truck and driving around remote parts of the island looking for the ‘perfect’ tree. Sometimes we scouted the tree in advance and were hoping it would still be there when it came time to cut it down.
“Once we wrangled the tree home and into the house there would be a family night for decorating. I didn’t look forward to going (all by myself) to the scary attic to bring down the decorations but after we finished hanging the decorations, I recall hot chocolate and cookies.”
“The magic, however, occurred overnight. We all went to bed with decorations hung and bubble lights attached and working. It looked quite nice. The tree we awoke to however had been transformed. It was glittering from every angle. Mom had stayed up very late and hung tinsel one strand at a time. There were no bare spots, every strand laid perfectly over every branch. Each year the results of Mom’s efforts were the same, the perfect Christmas tree for all to enjoy.”
“Once it was time to take the tree down, Mom would save the tinsel by taking it off one strand at a time, package it up and store it with the neatly folded Christmas wrapping paper that she had salvaged for reuse the next year.”
“Among my many memories is the smell of the tree. I loved to stick my nose as far as was possible among the boughs and inhale deeply. I loved, too, sneaking up late with nothing but the tree lights on and just watching the tinsel dancing languidly on the invisible curtain of heat rising from the bulb—especially the ones that had liquid inside through which bubbles rose and fell toward the colored cupola of light at the top.”
“I remember those tree foraging expeditions as well. Going to what I thought was the end of the world, Calderwood Neck and such, looking for ‘that tree.’ Dad would sometimes—once he had the tree cut to size and up—take some of the trimmings, drill holes in the trunk in thin spots and insert the trimmed branches in the holes to fill in. I remember how hot the lights got and what it felt like to get a ‘bulb burn.’”
Mom had the patience of Job when it came to tinsel. Unwrapping then re-wrapping each single strand around its own single piece of cardboard every year. And of course: “No presents till Gram, Gramp, and Gram J. get here. And keep Shiloh (the dog) away from the tree.’”
“I do certainly recall that extraordinary transformation and the magic she wrought for hours overnight. She was in her happy place on those nights as—to our good fortune—she was nearly always.”
Phil Crossman lives on Vinalhaven. He may be contacted at PhilCrossman.VH@gmail.com.
