I've been giving some thoughts to Christmas trees lately.
And I think about my earliest memories of a tree.
When I grew up, I didn't know anything about having to buy a tree.
I didn't know there were tree farms.
I only knew my dad would bring one home.
As, I got older, I realized it coincided with second season deer hunting.
Usually last day, to be precise.
When Dad was out scouting for deer, he'd scout for trees too.
And when he found one he thought would work, he put that to memory.
On his way home, he'd stop and cut it down.
I never thought it was odd at all.
Until my husband seemed to think it was funny.
Apparently, people just don't go out in the woods and cut down a tree.
They all seemed like very nice trees to me.
Honeyman calls them ugly pines.
What I remember is seeing the big tree in the back of the truck.
I remember it almost reaching the ceiling in the living room.
I remember Dad stringing the lights, the rest of us putting on everything else, but the star.
And than Dad putting the star on top.
Not sure if he did it cause it was his job.
Or, he did it because he was the only person in the house tall enough without standing on a ladder.
As Dad got older the trees gradually got smaller and smaller.
Until they got small enough to be set on top of a table.
I remember my childhood cat, Tabby sitting under the tree like she was a present.
She used to drink out of the stand too.
I remember the year she climbed the tree and it fell over.
It was a big tree that year.
Tabby was a bit rotund.
But, luckily Mom was in the room and it fell just so that she caught the tree and the cat.
Tabby never did try to climb another Christmas tree.
These days, Dad doesn't even go out and get a tree.
He gave up hunting and my sister gave them an artificial tree a few years back.
I wish I had pictures of some of our old trees.
Guess it was just something we never thought about taking at the time.
I will just have to picture it in my mind.