Every year shortly before Christmas, usually a week or
two, it became my sister, Mary’s, and my job to go with Pop into the pine
forest to find our Christmas tree. My parents frowned on the idea of purchasing
a Christmas tree and the artificial trees, like those aluminum trees with the
spotlight that changed colors was considered outrageous and, well, blasphemous
in Mom and Pop’s eyes.
Me With My Parents (actually I was about 17 in this picture. Mom made this "Beatle Outfit" for me)
Pop once said his family just cut pine branches, stuck
them in a vase to serve as a tree. They put real candles on it and my
grandfather McNeal stood guard with a bucket of water in case of fire. This
scenario would not suffice for the discerning tastes of my sister and me. No
sir, only a big, fluffy pine tree would do. And Pop knew how important
Christmas was to Mom, and therefore, put forth every effort to unplug his inner
Scrooge.
In our neck of the woods here in North Carolina, cedar
trees are a whole lot more plentiful than other conifers and they smell
heavenly with lacy looking branches, but they unfortunately droop under the
weight of Christmas ornaments and lights. So, pine trees were the only trees
that would work for us even though it was quite a hike to go find one. We had
to traverse the hilly woods beyond the orchard, leap over the creek or wade
through it, high-step it over a wide patch of blackberry briars, and then walk
the old meadow filled with beggar lice seeds and cockleburs that stuck to our
clothes. Just at the far edge of the meadow pine trees had just begun to
populate the area and, from there, in the older part of the meadow is where the
pine trees had taken off and flourished virtually undisturbed for years until
the McNeals arrived.
Finally, we had reached the old pine forest and all we
had to do then was choose “The One”—that perfect tree that had managed to grow
symmetrical branches without any bare places and that wasn’t too short or too
tall, but about 6-8 feet to fit perfectly in the living room. The tree had to
be full and sturdy with a pine scent that whispered, “It’s Christmas.”
My Sister, Mary, Mom, and Me (far right)
In 1963 when I was fifteen, it was bitter cold that
December, but the weather wasn’t about to keep us from making that journey into
the deep woods. Christmas was just around the corner and we wanted that tree. I
might mention that Pop loved these long walks. He was raised in a small town in
Pennsylvania surrounded by mountains and spent most of his early life with no
horse or car…just feet to get him where he wanted to go. He loved roaming
through valley and dale on his nature hikes. Mary and I, on the other hand, grew up in the
city. This particular adventure into nature was close to our endurance limit, but
we weren’t about to pass up a hike with Pop or a Christmas tree. No sir, we
could endure. We were tough.
Or so we thought…
By the time we crossed the creek, Mary and I had red
noses and our hands ached from the cold. In order to avoid being snagged by those
blackberry briars, we had to step high with every step using the large muscles
in our thighs to do it. It was easy at first, but the briar patch had grown
stretching out much further than the previous year. By the time we made it to
the other side of the meadow, my legs burned, my jeans were full of beggar lice
and cockleburs and all I could think was that we had the same long trip all the
way back home. Just call me a big woosie girl, but I was done. My sister didn’t
look much better. Her hands had grown red, her eyes looked like they might roll
back in her head any moment and the expression of determination and
stubbornness told me she would get this done even if we had to bury her along
the way.
Of course, Pop was marching right along in front of us
leading the way into the pines. When he turned to see if we were keeping up, I
saw the tired lines on his face, the slop of his shoulders, and the slowing
pace of his gait. It took me by surprise to realize Pop was getting older and
this long trek was taking a toll on him as well as Mary and me. Pop loved Mom
and he would do anything to make her happy. Mom loved Christmas and this tree
would make her happy. We weren’t giving up.
Now I’ll be the first one to admit, we might be going
home with a tree even if we had to crawl through that miserable briar patch,
but that didn’t mean we had to spend another hour searching for the Perfect
Tree. So, when Pop pointed to the first tall tree he saw and said, “How about
this one?” relief surged through me and, apparently Mary as well as we readily
agreed. Pop chopped down that tree probably with the last ounce of strength he
possessed and Mary and I dragged that tree back through the “Hell Hike” to the
backyard.
I’d love to say that somehow Christmas magic just happened
to make that tree the fully limbed, fluffy beauty we always wanted, but the
light of day showed us very clearly, especially after we had rested and
reignited our brain power, that our Christmas tree lacked luster. Mom never
said a single critical word about that tree. She smiled and told us to bring it
on in and get started decorating it. Thanks, Mom, for always being such a good
sport.
Once we got it in the house, turned it several times to
hide the bare spots as best we could, decorated it with our well used and loved
Christmas ornaments and lights, we were satisfied.
My Sister and Me (with my new guitar) and The Tragic Tree
Even though it was the worst tree we ever had, that
Christmas it actually snowed just like in the movies except it melted the very
next day. It was also a great Christmas for me. Mom and Pop gave me the guitar
I had always wanted. Until then I had played an old cast-off guitar that would
not stay tuned. I actually cried when I opened it. Pop took a picture of me
doing my ugly cry thing as I opened it, but I am not about to post that mess. But
I don’t have any problem posting a picture on my sister and me sitting in a
chair in front of the worst Christmas tree and the best Christmas ever.
The Whole Family With The Worst Tree
In the spirit of the season I am giving away a digital copy (Kindle)
of my recent release, HOME FOR THE HEART from the Wilding series, to someone
who comments.
HOME FOR THE HEART (Western
Romance with a touch of Lakota Mysticism)
Love doesn’t come easy…for some, it may never
come at all.
Blurb:
Lucille Thoroughgood is a social worker for orphan
children. She is known to the town’s folk as dependable, logical, determined,
and…well…stubborn. But Lucille has a secret affection for the determined
bachelor, Hank Wilding.
Hank Wilding loved hard and lost. He has sworn to never
marry. After Lucille makes a bargain with him, he agrees to allow troubled and
physically challenged children from the orphanage to ride his horses as equine
therapy. One of the orphans is a half Lakota boy, Chayton, who reminds Hank of
his own father’s painful childhood.
But a Lakota prophesy holds a shadow over the rejected,
embittered teenager, threatens the happiness of the inhabitants of Hazard,
Wyoming, and may end in tragedy for Lucy.
Excerpt: (the bargain)
In the quiet of the barn filled with the smell of fresh
hay, horse manure, and leather tack, Hank sensed rather than heard someone
enter the building. Ah, the smell of sunshine and roses. Must be Lucille
Thoroughgood. Without turning to look at her, he set the pitchfork against
the wall of Lonesome’s stall. “What do you want, Lucy?” he grumbled as a
greeting.
“Mr. Wilding, I have something I’d like to propose to
you.” Her voice sounded tense. When he turned to face her, he saw those blue
eyes dart away from his to peer at the straw on the floor. She promptly
straightened her spine and must have forced herself to look him straight in the
eye. Her starched manner made him want to mess with her.
“A proposal?” He moved closer to her…maybe too close. He
felt something shift in his chest like a warning bell. “Well now, I haven’t
ever had a lady propose to me before.” He joked, badly, just to get her goat.
Generally, women were not to be trusted. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
But Lucy was his old friend since grade school. Even though she must have been
born straight-laced and proper, she spoke her truth, plain and simple. Beneath
that barbed wire exterior beat a heart of gold.
Lucy propped her fists on her hips and he thought she
looked like a charming sugar bowl all ruffed up in her pink flowered dress and
her sweet, straw hat that sat askew on her gleaming brown hair. She knitted
those brows together and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not proposing marriage
to you, Mr. Wilding. I’m proposing a business deal…sort of.”
Excerpt: (the Lakota
Prophesy)
Kyle brought the truck to a stop as close to the front
door as the driveway allowed, but before Lucy could open the door, Kyle clasped
her arm. She turned to face him and noticed a faraway look in his dark eyes.
“What is it, Kyle? Is something wrong?”
His face took on a grim expression when he spoke. “All I
know is something dark is coming. Be careful, Lucy.”
Something in her chest clutched. Kyle had a special gift
and his words were not to be ignored. “Is something bad going to happen?”
“I’m afraid so. I wish I knew what it was, but I don’t. I
only know it’s evil.”
“You’re scaring me, Kyle.”
“I don’t mean to. Hank and I will keep an eye out. Tell
your dad what I said.”
Excerpt: (the prophecy comes to pass)
Love Me Tender
played on the radio and reminded Hank of Lucy dancing with him to the song. The
light, fragrance of roses filled his senses. Lucy’s perfume.
Reality settled back into Hank’s consciousness as they
entered the emergency room.
Buy Links:
Available on Kindle Unlimited
I wish for all of you a happy, safe, and memorable holiday season.
Sarah J. McNeal is a
multi-published author of several genres including time travel, paranormal,
western and historical fiction. She is a retired ER and Critical Care nurse who
lives in North Carolina with her four-legged children, Lily, the Golden
Retriever and Liberty, the cat. Besides her devotion to writing, she also has a
great love of music and plays several instruments including violin, bagpipes,
guitar and harmonica. Her books and short stories may be found at Prairie Rose
Publications and its imprints Painted Pony Books, and Fire Star Press. Some of
her fantasy and paranormal books may also be found at Publishing by
Rebecca Vickery and Victory Tales Press. She welcomes you to her website
and social media:
