The Last Tree

Last Saturday Karen and I geared up for the annual Christmas tree finding expedition. We waited till the temperature climbed above zero, put our mukluks together, grabbed anoraks and mittens, a thermos of cranberry tea sweetened with our maple syrup, and the small axe and saw. Some years we already know where the tree will be found because we spotted it during trips to the woods on autumn afternoons. This year, like last year and maybe the year before that, we just headed out to a likely spot in hopes of finding a suitable candidate to join us in celebrating Christmas. I was not surprised when Karen said "Let's go to the sugarbush."

The sugarbush is where we tap maple trees for the sap we cook down into syrup. No, we weren't planning on  bringing home a maple or ironwood sapling to decorate for the holiday. Going to the sugarbush should not be interpreted literally.What Karen meant was, "Let's go out to the sugarbush and look around. You know, drive up the road and see if we can find a tree."

The road had seen traffic from other vehicles but still, I shifted the jeep into 4WD to be safe. The road goes back almost two miles till you hit the turnaround at the end. We hadn't gone a quarter mile before Karen pointed out the young porcupine sitting about 20 feet up in a small balsam, next to the road. The porky looked like a small dark furry ball, about the size of a basketball. I backed up so we could have a closer look but this little guy was unconcerned. In past winters I have seen them occupy the same branch for several weeks, apparently without a need to go elsewhere. It is like they nap the winter away up in the treetops where the sunlight can warm them for the longest period of time on any given day.

I let the jeep crawl along in second gear. I was watching for deer, standing back in the brush. Plenty of deer tracks crisscrossed the road. Karen was on task, looking for a tree. When I turned my head to far to the left or right the jeep would follow and I had to yank us back up onto the track several times. Karen spotted one good tree about a half mile in but we kept on driving to the turnaround. The forest was snow-covered and quiet. Both of us felt a release of tension as we drove along. This is our country, our stomping grounds; this is where we used to go often back when we lived in the tipi. In those days we were outside more. We had more time free to wander freely in the woods without needing to return home at a certain time. That is because when we are in the woods, we are home. We miss plenty about that life. Not the rain and leaky canvas, but we do miss the freedom we had in greater abundance. And we miss living closer to the wild. We are thankful for  our home, the solid roof over our heads and the conveniences we once thought of as luxuries. We just know we were more at peace with each other and life in general, when we lived in the circle.

We turned around and headed back toward the road. Last spring we hiked in along one of the many trails, following the track through the open hardwoods and a good sugarbush, down below the high ground into a cedar and black spruce swamp. Loggers had recently been there and the tracks of their equipment left heavy marks on the thawing ground. But the sun was out that afternoon and if we didn't inhale too deeply, we could breathe in the delicate sweet scent of the cedar and the newly exposed mosses. We added these scents to the sunshine and smiles and our day was complete.

We parked the jeep at the end of this trail and headed back to the same swamp. The day was sunny but cold. There were no lovely springtime scents to tease our nostrils. It was a day for watching and listening. We saw and heard chickadees and heard ravens croaking in the distance, but that was all. The snow was about a foot deep. We had brought snowshoes but left them in the jeep. The walking was just difficult enough to keep us warm. Down in the swamp bull thistles had grown up in the trail. I wondered if they had always been in the soil and came out after the ground was disturbed, or if they were inadvertantly transported by the logger. Karen was taken by the brown beauty of the dry seed heads. The leaves and stems, with their sharp pointed ends, looked like medieval weapons to me. Maybe we have been watching too many episodes of The Tudors.We made the climb back out of the swamp, retracing our steps in the snow. Back in the jeep we drank hot tea and ate old deer hunting candy bars I found in my anorak pocket. Then we headed back down the road to the tree Karen spied earlier.
 
About a half mile from the blacktop we parked the jeep and got out. I grabbed the axe and saw and followed Karen into the open woods. We looked at several wonderful specimens, walking up to them with a critical eye, appraising their merits. Some had crooked tops. Others were too much like Charlie Browns' tree, thin and scraggly. We narrowed our choices to three and were playing "Well, you pick one" when Karen asked "If you could pick one, which one would it be?" I pointed to a balsam about 30 yards away. We walked over to this tree. The trunk was small and delicate. The top of the tree was maybe 15 feet above the snowy ground. "Is this the one you want?"

"Yes" And it was a nice tree. I liked the robust dark green and the conical shape. The tree was a bit too open but overall, this tree looked more like Christmas, to me. I started sawing through the trunk. The smell of balsam, a scent I associate with peace and calm, filled my nostrils. The tree was frozen. I concentrated on keeping the saw moving smoothly back and forth. When I was nearly through the tree began to lean and I cut through the last bit of wood and bark as it fell to the ground.

I was surprised when I stood up, to see Karen eyes filled with tears. Her face, already red from the cold, was pinched with the pain of losing this wonderful tree. "What's wrong?" "I didn't want to cut this tree" she sniffled. "It's a bit late now" I said. "I know" she said. "I didn't know it till you were halfway through the tree."

I did not know what to say. I couldn't make the tree whole again. I had not expected this reaction. "This is the last year we cut a tree" she said.  "I'm sorry" I said. "I didn't know."

"I don't know why" Karen said. "I felt this way before, with the other trees, but this year it's different." She paused, "It's not right to take a life for this."

"Well, we have to honor this tree" I said. "It can be the last one." I trimmed a few feet from the trunk, turned the tree around and drug it out to the jeep. Together we put the tree on top and I lashed it down with straps and we drove off, towards home. We didn't speak much. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Karen looking at me. I reached over, giving her my hand as reassurance. At home the tree was too tall to stand up in the garage. We had to lay in on the floor till we were ready to set it up.

Getting Christmas trees has been part of my Christmas tradition as long as I can remember. When I was a little boy, my mom and grandmother and I would stop at one of the lots in town and give the trees the once over. Invariably, it was cold and dark. My grandmother wore a long wool overcoat and little dress galoshes over her shoes. My mom was finicky about getting the right tree and tried hard not to let the cold bother her.  I just ran around "Mom, mom, look at this one. Mom!" When the perfect tree had been selected we tucked it into to trunk of the old '41 Ford and drove home with our prize.

 When my kids were little, getting them to agree on the perfect tree was hell. Many tears were shed then but the reason was different. I don't miss the drama that came with those trees. But I know that next year I will miss going to the woods to bring home a tree. I will miss the sweet scent of balsam pitch on my hands when we string lights and hang the ornaments. We haven't talked about what we will do next year. Artificial tree? Maybe, though I cringe at the thought. It may be better, kinder, than cutting down a young living tree for the sake of tradition.  Maybe we'll just decorate a wild tree in the woods and leave it there for the chickadees and deer and ravens to fuss over. And maybe the little people of the forest will come out and dance around the tree. Too bad we aren't likely to see that.

If you believe in karma then you will find it funny that the tree got us back. Karen was re-arranging the living room so we would have a space to place this last tree. She just had to vacuum in one spot then we would set the tree in the stand and start decorating. As soon as she turned the vacuum on, we lost power in all the outlets and lights in the living room. We did our best to troubleshoot the cause; switched  the offending outlet and then the suspect breaker but we did not recover power. The next day an electrician friend came over to help. Four hours later the bad wire had been discovered, a temporary new one strung down the wall and along the floor and I tried cutting through a live wire. It was exciting in all kinds of ways but in the end, we had power back on in the living room.

That evening we finished decorating this last tree. The antique ornaments,the handmade ones from kids, the lights, the new black raven and both whiskey jacks; all were hung with care and respect. I do not know what Karen was feeling or thinking. I felt I was witnessing a piece of history passing and yet, I couldn't be sad. In my personal life, December is filled with memories of past losses. I have moved away from the pain of those times. Karen and I both know life can be worse. We are thankful for what we have- family, friends and most of all, each other. Christmas, whether you believe in it or not, is about joy and life and light and that is what I will choose to remember. If this year is the last year we cut a tree I am okay with that. I have had plenty of trees. I would rather have plenty more years to celebrate this season of love and life.

My best, our best, to all of you in this holiday season. Take care of yourselves and loved ones. Give thanks and spread joy and peace.

My peace and love to you all.
Mike