Well here we go. Here are a few memories of the farm. I remember the first time meeting Rod. He was so nice to me; I must have been 10. Boy where have the years gone? I remember that day like it was yesterday. He showed me around the farm. First he brought me down the road a little where the street sign was. I looked up and it said “Sheer Road.” Wow, I felt great because that was my name. He told me that their neighbor was one mile away. Again, wow, my neighbor (in New York City) was either on top of me or under my family. lol Some comparison from that day. I loved the farm. I remember he took me into the woods. It was really far in and all I was thinking was I hope we don’t get lost, but I always felt so comfortable with him. Its like I fell in love with my cousin; he was so nice to me all the time. We finally got to one destination and it was old tombstones of a family who had lived there in the mid-1800s and died from the Bubonic plague. It really gave me the creeps. We walked a little further and there was some Hermit that lived on their farm who Uncle Nick allowed to live there and he would check on him every so often. (That piece actually belonged to Raleigh Jones, the hermit). One day Uncle Nick went to check on how the hermit was doing and found him lying on the floor with a broken leg. So of course the wonderful man that Uncle Nick was, he brought him to the hospital. The hermit being alone from what I remember left the hospital and went back to his home in the woods soon after Uncle Nick brought him there. It was time to get back home; it was starting to get dark and Rod told me there were bears in these woods. That was all I needed to hear, a city kid bumping into a bear well I was scared S—t. Then there were, of course, all sorts of noises. l told Rod I was scared. Rod being Rod told me not to worry because this was his land and the bears that lived there knew him. I believed him of course. I did, he was Rod. We made it back to the farmhouse. Boy was I happy to see everyone.
My dad was a golfer. He loved the game. His name was Phil and mom was Rose. Anyway he told Uncle Nick this. So Uncle Nick being Uncle Nick jumped on the tractor and cut out and made a one hole golf course for my dad. That was really cool. The relationship was my dad’s pop Max was Uncle Nick’s brother. I also remember seeing Rod driving the tractor. He looked so big on that thing; as he waved to me; he had to cut the hay. Well, until I have more memories I’ll be leaving for a short while.
All my love Marc
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Memory from my New York City cousin
I only have one email contact on the Sheer side of the family. Marc is still a true New Yorker. I remember thinking how funny my city cousins talked when they visited the farm. Marc sent this sweet memory of Daddy and the farm. I hope he will send in more as he has time to write.
Boy what could I say, It was so nice hearing from you and reading the stories. I had tears in my eyes. Just thinking of the time my father found Uncle Nick, and going to visit him and the family we never new. There are so many adventures; I remember the few times we came and visited all of you. I don't know if you remember or not, but there was one day my sister caught a frog and had it in a box. Debbie at the time must have been six or seven. Well, Uncle Nick that night caught a few more frogs and put them in the box. The next morning when we all got up Debbie looked in the box and said the frog she caught gave birth. Well, the laughing that went on was something. Anyway, I hope all is well with you and family please keep in touch. I have a tendency to drop out of sight but will try not to.
Always all my love
Marc Sheer
Boy what could I say, It was so nice hearing from you and reading the stories. I had tears in my eyes. Just thinking of the time my father found Uncle Nick, and going to visit him and the family we never new. There are so many adventures; I remember the few times we came and visited all of you. I don't know if you remember or not, but there was one day my sister caught a frog and had it in a box. Debbie at the time must have been six or seven. Well, Uncle Nick that night caught a few more frogs and put them in the box. The next morning when we all got up Debbie looked in the box and said the frog she caught gave birth. Well, the laughing that went on was something. Anyway, I hope all is well with you and family please keep in touch. I have a tendency to drop out of sight but will try not to.
Always all my love
Marc Sheer
Sometimes Life's Biggest Challenges are Just Small Hills
Many times after a heavy snowstorm Mom shoveled a pathway from the top of the hill to the bottom of the hill so we would not have to walk on top of the soft drifts to get to the bus. This was done in the wee hours of the morning while we were still nestled under our piles of quilts. We never heard her leave or return, and she never said a word about her backbreaking night. But as we started the long walk to the bus, we knew we were loved. She feared that we would fall in the high drifts and not be able to get out. We loved walking on top of the snowdrifts. But until they had crusted over, we had to stick to the shoveled out path. Once the snow crusted over, the pathway went unused.
Taking the car up the hill road in the winter was impossible. The roadmen never plowed it out since it was only our family on the hill, and the school bus never traveled a long road for one family. The swamp road had a smaller hill and once in a while the county roadmen would bring the snowplow in that way. The head road supervisor was a neighbor, and my buddy.
Herb was a big man. In my little girl eyes he was a giant, as big around as he was tall. We loved having him come through. He was not allowed to ever plow out anyone’s driveway, but sometimes he felt there was no other way to get that big snowplow turned around than to make a clean swipe of our circular drive behind the house. We kids looked forward to climbing up into that huge truck. I always made sure that I was the first one to grab onto that big hand. As Herb pulled me up into the truck, I announced, “Urb, Urb, urry, urry, urry! Mom’s hot tocolate’s dettin’ dold!” I loved sitting next to Herb while he drank his hot chocolate. I felt so important!
After the snowplow had been through the swamp road, it was smooth sailing for sledding until Daddy had enough ashes from the coal furnace saved up to spread on the hill. It was always disappointing when we saw Daddy take the tractor out to the swamp road with the buckets full of ashes. But spreading the ashes assured Daddy of getting a car all the way to the house and he wouldn't have to walk the hill to get home.
Mom did her best race driving in the winter on the swamp road. Daddy always said we didn’t need the roadmen to clean out the ditches; we had Mom doing a fine job of that! I think she saw the swamp hill as a personal challenge. She was able to get a running start in the lowlands where the swamp met the road. By the time she hit the hill she had to be doing 60 MPH. This was always exciting. The anticipation of possibly making it this time was exhilarating! I envisioned us to be much like the “Little Train That Could.” My little mind would be rapidly repeating, “I think she can… I think she can…I think she can.” As the tires started spinning at the crest of the hill and the car began to slide backward my heart was saddened for Mom. Sometimes she was successful at backing down all the way and trying again. Usually she just slid into a ditch. I don’t know how many times we had to walk home to get the tractor to pull the car out of the ditch. But even that walk home was fun. Of course, in respect for Mom’s yet another defeat to the hill, we always started our walk in silence. But by the time we got home, our laughter could be heard a long way off.
Taking the car up the hill road in the winter was impossible. The roadmen never plowed it out since it was only our family on the hill, and the school bus never traveled a long road for one family. The swamp road had a smaller hill and once in a while the county roadmen would bring the snowplow in that way. The head road supervisor was a neighbor, and my buddy.
Herb was a big man. In my little girl eyes he was a giant, as big around as he was tall. We loved having him come through. He was not allowed to ever plow out anyone’s driveway, but sometimes he felt there was no other way to get that big snowplow turned around than to make a clean swipe of our circular drive behind the house. We kids looked forward to climbing up into that huge truck. I always made sure that I was the first one to grab onto that big hand. As Herb pulled me up into the truck, I announced, “Urb, Urb, urry, urry, urry! Mom’s hot tocolate’s dettin’ dold!” I loved sitting next to Herb while he drank his hot chocolate. I felt so important!
After the snowplow had been through the swamp road, it was smooth sailing for sledding until Daddy had enough ashes from the coal furnace saved up to spread on the hill. It was always disappointing when we saw Daddy take the tractor out to the swamp road with the buckets full of ashes. But spreading the ashes assured Daddy of getting a car all the way to the house and he wouldn't have to walk the hill to get home.
Mom did her best race driving in the winter on the swamp road. Daddy always said we didn’t need the roadmen to clean out the ditches; we had Mom doing a fine job of that! I think she saw the swamp hill as a personal challenge. She was able to get a running start in the lowlands where the swamp met the road. By the time she hit the hill she had to be doing 60 MPH. This was always exciting. The anticipation of possibly making it this time was exhilarating! I envisioned us to be much like the “Little Train That Could.” My little mind would be rapidly repeating, “I think she can… I think she can…I think she can.” As the tires started spinning at the crest of the hill and the car began to slide backward my heart was saddened for Mom. Sometimes she was successful at backing down all the way and trying again. Usually she just slid into a ditch. I don’t know how many times we had to walk home to get the tractor to pull the car out of the ditch. But even that walk home was fun. Of course, in respect for Mom’s yet another defeat to the hill, we always started our walk in silence. But by the time we got home, our laughter could be heard a long way off.
Halloween: Those were the Days
I know there are some people who would rather ignore the fact that Halloween is a yearly event. They would like to see it done away with all together. But I have fond memories of Halloween. My memories of Halloween were built in a more innocent age.
On the Saturday night before Halloween our school hosted a huge party. Each classroom would decorate their door for the grand prize. Children and parents would be dressed in costumes and join the parade around the gymnasium. The Boroch family always won the big prize. The mom was a great seamstress. One year they all came as skunks. They really “skunked” us all that year. After the costume judging and awarding of the prizes, everyone enjoyed playing games such as dunking for apples, donuts on a string, and dodging the apple in the doorway.
Today the whole idea of trick-or-treating is to see how much candy can be gathered from the treaters. In my time, we were excited to get apples and homemade donuts and as much apple cider and hot chocolate that we could carry away in our tummies. Halloween to us was trying to fool our friends better than we did the year before. Since we lived a mile from our nearest neighbor, Mom always drove us in the jeep to trick or treat.
Several hours went into deciding which of Mom or Daddy’s oldest clothes we should wear. Any skin showing had to be blackened with coal from the cellar. Decorated, brown paper grocery bags with cutout eyes covered our heads to serve as masks. For extra padding, we stuffed wadded up towels or straw in our shirts. We were always careful to wear dark-colored clothing, because half the fun was sneaking up on the houses.
With the jeep lights off, Mom quietly and slowly drove up in a neighbor’s field. Then we tripped and stumbled through the field to the unsuspecting house. Once we were all standing on the porch we started yelling “Trick or Treat!” Porch lights quickly lit up the front of the house, we were invited in and the guessing began. We very rarely stumped anyone, but on our way back to the jeep we convinced ourselves that our neighbors never had a clue.
Mom dressing up in costume was a big part of the fun. But I remember one Halloween that beat all other Halloweens. Mom found an old man’s mask somewhere with warts, wrinkles and sagging jaws. She put an extra supply of straw in her shirt and pants and held an old corncob pipe in the mouth of the mask. I thought this would be her best performance year ever. No one would guess her!
One of our visits was to old Manley Van Ness and his wife, Ada. The VanNess’s were a sweet couple and well up in years. Manley was using two canes now. Mom directed us kids to go in the front door while she quietly sneaked in the back. No one noticed her until she was right behind Manley in the living room. She just stood there for a while, hands in her pockets and the corncob pipe hanging out of that warty mask.
As I said, Manley was old and was not moving very fast anymore. That night was different. Manley sensed someone behind him and slowly turned on his two canes. I never knew an old man could jump so high. As he came down he roared with tears gushing down his face, “Why, Blair, I almost didn’t recognize you!” We laughed so hard as we slurped hot chocolate and gobbled down our donuts. We all agreed that was a good laugh on Mom!
Now days kids have to buy their outfits. They have lost the creative excitement of creating their own. I also think people enjoyed their neighbors back then more than we do our neighbors today. We live closer to our neighbors now but hold them farther away from our hearts. Yes, those were the days and could be again.
On the Saturday night before Halloween our school hosted a huge party. Each classroom would decorate their door for the grand prize. Children and parents would be dressed in costumes and join the parade around the gymnasium. The Boroch family always won the big prize. The mom was a great seamstress. One year they all came as skunks. They really “skunked” us all that year. After the costume judging and awarding of the prizes, everyone enjoyed playing games such as dunking for apples, donuts on a string, and dodging the apple in the doorway.
Today the whole idea of trick-or-treating is to see how much candy can be gathered from the treaters. In my time, we were excited to get apples and homemade donuts and as much apple cider and hot chocolate that we could carry away in our tummies. Halloween to us was trying to fool our friends better than we did the year before. Since we lived a mile from our nearest neighbor, Mom always drove us in the jeep to trick or treat.
Several hours went into deciding which of Mom or Daddy’s oldest clothes we should wear. Any skin showing had to be blackened with coal from the cellar. Decorated, brown paper grocery bags with cutout eyes covered our heads to serve as masks. For extra padding, we stuffed wadded up towels or straw in our shirts. We were always careful to wear dark-colored clothing, because half the fun was sneaking up on the houses.
With the jeep lights off, Mom quietly and slowly drove up in a neighbor’s field. Then we tripped and stumbled through the field to the unsuspecting house. Once we were all standing on the porch we started yelling “Trick or Treat!” Porch lights quickly lit up the front of the house, we were invited in and the guessing began. We very rarely stumped anyone, but on our way back to the jeep we convinced ourselves that our neighbors never had a clue.
Mom dressing up in costume was a big part of the fun. But I remember one Halloween that beat all other Halloweens. Mom found an old man’s mask somewhere with warts, wrinkles and sagging jaws. She put an extra supply of straw in her shirt and pants and held an old corncob pipe in the mouth of the mask. I thought this would be her best performance year ever. No one would guess her!
One of our visits was to old Manley Van Ness and his wife, Ada. The VanNess’s were a sweet couple and well up in years. Manley was using two canes now. Mom directed us kids to go in the front door while she quietly sneaked in the back. No one noticed her until she was right behind Manley in the living room. She just stood there for a while, hands in her pockets and the corncob pipe hanging out of that warty mask.
As I said, Manley was old and was not moving very fast anymore. That night was different. Manley sensed someone behind him and slowly turned on his two canes. I never knew an old man could jump so high. As he came down he roared with tears gushing down his face, “Why, Blair, I almost didn’t recognize you!” We laughed so hard as we slurped hot chocolate and gobbled down our donuts. We all agreed that was a good laugh on Mom!
Now days kids have to buy their outfits. They have lost the creative excitement of creating their own. I also think people enjoyed their neighbors back then more than we do our neighbors today. We live closer to our neighbors now but hold them farther away from our hearts. Yes, those were the days and could be again.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Joy is a Dancing Christmas Tree
“Pull, Daddy,” we all called.
“No, too much. Okay, right there.” Mom and Virginia both agreed the Christmas tree was now in the perfect spot.
“Perfect, Daddy. Tie it right there.” Big sister Virginia always had the last say. Rodney and I knew Virginia possessed an artist’s eye, because she told us she did and who were we to argue with Virginia.
I loved Christmas Tree Day. The whole family did too. But I think Daddy enjoyed it even more than we kids did. Earlier in the day, as he helped to bundle up the four children in their overalls, coats, heavy mittens, and boots, I knew Daddy was thinking back on his most memorable Christmas as a child. It was a Hanukkah celebration in the Jewish orphanage when he was very young. Gifts were handed out all around, and Daddy received a bright red fire truck with a ladder and whistle. But when one of the older boys saw it, he made Daddy trade with him or run the risk of being beat up again. In return for the fire truck, a small plastic ladder with a clown was forced into his hands. The clown used to climb up one side of the ladder and down the other. But the clown had been broken, so he didn’t climb at all. I remember when he first told us the story. I cried, but Daddy said he didn’t tell us the story to make us sad, but instead he wanted us to realize what we had in our family…each other. Daddy had decided a long time ago that Christmas on the farm would be different; it would be the most fun time of the whole year for his little ones.
The hunt for the tree started with a search through the thick woods on the top of the hill. The biggest pine trees on the farm grew up there. Finding and decorating the most perfect Christmas tree was a daylong process.
This year, four-month old Emery rode latched into his snow sled as the three farm dogs pranced around eager to have a part in the hike. The family crunched through the snow up the side hill of the farm, as we reviewed the strict criteria to make sure everyone was on the same page.
“Remember,” ten-year-old Rodney began, “it has to be real tall. Taller than me, taller than Daddy.” Even though Daddy only stood at 5’2”, we still thought of him as a giant.
“It has to have lots of branches.” I remembered last year when I was only six, how I loved the bigness of that tree…and every Christmas tree I had ever known in our home. “We have to have room for everything this year and lots of icicles, too.”
“Let’s just be sure it’s not too wide for the back door,” Virginia continued the criteria listing. “You know Mom wasn’t real happy when we had to take the back door off last year.” We all peeked back at Mom pulling Emery’s sled. But she had a strange smile on her face as if she remembered it with fondness.
“And only one top!” Virginia insisted. Twelve-year-old Virginia was determined that this year the tree would be a masterpiece.
As we all ran from one pine tree to the next and back again, we finally agreed on the perfect one. Perfect in every way. It was tall, but not too tall; lots of branches, but not too wide for the door; and it had one top. Perfect! To get it back to the house, Daddy tied it to the other sled that he had pulled up the hill. The tree engulfed the large sled and even though Daddy had tied it on tight, we kids had to help hold it onto the sled as we laughed and chattered all the way back down the hill.
When we reached the back door of the house, we scurried to untie the ropes and stand our tree up. Our number one criteria had been a success. It was tall…real tall. So tall that about four feet had to be cut off the top. That allowed for six tops to appear, which squashed Virginia’s criteria of only one top. My “lots of branches” had to be trimmed down so the beauty could squeeze through the door. But at least this year the back door didn’t have to come off.
After wedging the tree in between slabs of wood in a coal bucket, we anchored it to the ceiling with a rope. Daddy tied off the rope and the family stood back and made sure that it indeed stood straight and didn’t lean to one side or the other.
We tried to wait patiently as Mom and Daddy ran the string of big electric bulbs onto the branches. Then us kids took charge as we hooked several bulbs on each branch. Every so often, a bulb crashed to the floor as my little fingers tried to eagerly race to see how many I could get on before my brother. But this was all taken in stride; after all, this was Christmas Tree Day.
Daddy was glad he worked for Corning Glass Works where they made Christmas bulbs. The factory stored the defective bulbs in huge bins and every year the employees’ families could come in and buy these bulbs at huge discounts. Huge bins of every color…red, blue, green, gold and silver, filled the massive room. And at great prices…no bulb cost more than twenty-five cents. Mom made sure that we chose mostly from the five-cent bins. Over the years, our family had amassed so many bulbs, and every glass bulb had to be used and then each top needed a star or a big bulb turned upside down.
Once all the bulbs were on, Virginia insisted that the icicles be laid gently one-by-one on each branch. She said this would create a more professional look to the tree and really bring it to life. But one mischievous look from Rodney said it all for me. “Are you ready?” And I was! This was the most fun time of decorating. Would we ever let a wanna-be-professional-tree-decorator spoil our fun? Rodney and I stood back and gleefully threw silver icicles by handfuls. Virginia, defeated again, just gave up. She waited until all the icicles were laying in clumps on the already too ornamented branches and tried to rearrange them as best she could. Rodney and I thought the clumps made the silver strings look more like snow. After the meticulous trimming of the tree, the family stood back and fixed our eyes on our handiwork in utter amazement.
Tradition continued and that night we opened our first Christmas gift. It was the same every year, but it was still exciting. All the kids ripped into the packages and brought out matching pajamas. Daddy hurried to get a picture of his four cherubs in our pajamas under the tree before Emery fell asleep.
Then the phone call had to be made to the cousins who lived downtown. “The tree is up…hurry and come see it. It’s beautiful,” I exclaimed to cousin Carole on the phone.
Within the next couple of days Aunt Ilene, Uncle Wilbur and cousins Carole and Sharon braved the icy country roads to come see yet another dancing tree that protruded halfway out into the living room with one branch here and another there. Every year they took pictures of their country cousins’ tree and went away smiling. It seemed to make the city cousins’ Christmas season special for them to see such a gorgeous tree.
Mom always ordered several different kinds of candies from Sears and Roebuck catalog to arrive in time for Christmas Tree Day. She stored the tin cans of ribbon candy, chocolate peanuts, jelly-filled hard candies and taffy on the screened-in front porch. When the door to the porch was opened, the smell of that candy, mixed with the fragrance of the evergreen tree, filled the entire house with the aroma of Christmas.
Great care was given to our special tree. The bucket in which it stood received plenty of water each day. Rodney and I fought for that job. We liked crawling under the low branches and inching to the bucket on our bellies with the pitcher of water. Usually most of my water ended up on the floor and Rodney had to clean up the mess and finish the job. Nevertheless, we determined that this year all needles would remain on the tree until the very end.
For the next week, Virginia and I played dolls at the base of the tree. We stored our little plastic cups and saucers under the tree for quick tea parties. Rodney made fun of our dishes and dolls and lined his army men all around the bucket as if to protect the tree from the dolls taking over.
New Year’s Day signaled the close of the Christmas season. We never had as much fun removing all the icicles as we had putting them on, but we knew every bit had to come off. We carefully took down all the glass bulbs and wrapped them up for the next year. Then Rodney and Daddy carried the boxes up to the attic to be stored.
According to Mom, the season was not officially over yet. Mom laid bones on the tree branches and invited the farm dogs in for their Christmas fun. Those dogs could jump quite high for their Yuletide treats. In Mom’s opinion everyone needed some Christmas cheer.
Pulling our poor tree out of the house was never as difficult as taking it in. Drawing our once gorgeous work of art through the living room and kitchen left huge piles of needles behind. The base of the tree then had to be packed tight with snow to hold it up. We wadded pieces of bread into balls and molded them onto the needle-less branches for the hungry birds. The bare tree stood in the back yard for several days until Mom was sure that the birds had been fed sufficiently.
The last role for our tree was bittersweet for us. All together, we pulled it to the orchard and late at night in the cold winter air, it provided a warm bonfire to cook hotdogs and marshmallows pierced onto apple tree twigs.
Yes, every year our Christmas tree gave many hours of enjoyment for our family, as well as for many other living creatures on the farm. Those were special trees--lovingly sought out for a special purpose. Many memories were built at the base of those trees as my siblings and I crawled under the huge branches. It never mattered that our parents could only afford to give us small gifts every year; the Christmas season was always looked on as the best time. I think the tree had a lot to do with that.
“No, too much. Okay, right there.” Mom and Virginia both agreed the Christmas tree was now in the perfect spot.
“Perfect, Daddy. Tie it right there.” Big sister Virginia always had the last say. Rodney and I knew Virginia possessed an artist’s eye, because she told us she did and who were we to argue with Virginia.
I loved Christmas Tree Day. The whole family did too. But I think Daddy enjoyed it even more than we kids did. Earlier in the day, as he helped to bundle up the four children in their overalls, coats, heavy mittens, and boots, I knew Daddy was thinking back on his most memorable Christmas as a child. It was a Hanukkah celebration in the Jewish orphanage when he was very young. Gifts were handed out all around, and Daddy received a bright red fire truck with a ladder and whistle. But when one of the older boys saw it, he made Daddy trade with him or run the risk of being beat up again. In return for the fire truck, a small plastic ladder with a clown was forced into his hands. The clown used to climb up one side of the ladder and down the other. But the clown had been broken, so he didn’t climb at all. I remember when he first told us the story. I cried, but Daddy said he didn’t tell us the story to make us sad, but instead he wanted us to realize what we had in our family…each other. Daddy had decided a long time ago that Christmas on the farm would be different; it would be the most fun time of the whole year for his little ones.
The hunt for the tree started with a search through the thick woods on the top of the hill. The biggest pine trees on the farm grew up there. Finding and decorating the most perfect Christmas tree was a daylong process.
This year, four-month old Emery rode latched into his snow sled as the three farm dogs pranced around eager to have a part in the hike. The family crunched through the snow up the side hill of the farm, as we reviewed the strict criteria to make sure everyone was on the same page.
“Remember,” ten-year-old Rodney began, “it has to be real tall. Taller than me, taller than Daddy.” Even though Daddy only stood at 5’2”, we still thought of him as a giant.
“It has to have lots of branches.” I remembered last year when I was only six, how I loved the bigness of that tree…and every Christmas tree I had ever known in our home. “We have to have room for everything this year and lots of icicles, too.”
“Let’s just be sure it’s not too wide for the back door,” Virginia continued the criteria listing. “You know Mom wasn’t real happy when we had to take the back door off last year.” We all peeked back at Mom pulling Emery’s sled. But she had a strange smile on her face as if she remembered it with fondness.
“And only one top!” Virginia insisted. Twelve-year-old Virginia was determined that this year the tree would be a masterpiece.
As we all ran from one pine tree to the next and back again, we finally agreed on the perfect one. Perfect in every way. It was tall, but not too tall; lots of branches, but not too wide for the door; and it had one top. Perfect! To get it back to the house, Daddy tied it to the other sled that he had pulled up the hill. The tree engulfed the large sled and even though Daddy had tied it on tight, we kids had to help hold it onto the sled as we laughed and chattered all the way back down the hill.
When we reached the back door of the house, we scurried to untie the ropes and stand our tree up. Our number one criteria had been a success. It was tall…real tall. So tall that about four feet had to be cut off the top. That allowed for six tops to appear, which squashed Virginia’s criteria of only one top. My “lots of branches” had to be trimmed down so the beauty could squeeze through the door. But at least this year the back door didn’t have to come off.
After wedging the tree in between slabs of wood in a coal bucket, we anchored it to the ceiling with a rope. Daddy tied off the rope and the family stood back and made sure that it indeed stood straight and didn’t lean to one side or the other.
We tried to wait patiently as Mom and Daddy ran the string of big electric bulbs onto the branches. Then us kids took charge as we hooked several bulbs on each branch. Every so often, a bulb crashed to the floor as my little fingers tried to eagerly race to see how many I could get on before my brother. But this was all taken in stride; after all, this was Christmas Tree Day.
Daddy was glad he worked for Corning Glass Works where they made Christmas bulbs. The factory stored the defective bulbs in huge bins and every year the employees’ families could come in and buy these bulbs at huge discounts. Huge bins of every color…red, blue, green, gold and silver, filled the massive room. And at great prices…no bulb cost more than twenty-five cents. Mom made sure that we chose mostly from the five-cent bins. Over the years, our family had amassed so many bulbs, and every glass bulb had to be used and then each top needed a star or a big bulb turned upside down.
Once all the bulbs were on, Virginia insisted that the icicles be laid gently one-by-one on each branch. She said this would create a more professional look to the tree and really bring it to life. But one mischievous look from Rodney said it all for me. “Are you ready?” And I was! This was the most fun time of decorating. Would we ever let a wanna-be-professional-tree-decorator spoil our fun? Rodney and I stood back and gleefully threw silver icicles by handfuls. Virginia, defeated again, just gave up. She waited until all the icicles were laying in clumps on the already too ornamented branches and tried to rearrange them as best she could. Rodney and I thought the clumps made the silver strings look more like snow. After the meticulous trimming of the tree, the family stood back and fixed our eyes on our handiwork in utter amazement.
Tradition continued and that night we opened our first Christmas gift. It was the same every year, but it was still exciting. All the kids ripped into the packages and brought out matching pajamas. Daddy hurried to get a picture of his four cherubs in our pajamas under the tree before Emery fell asleep.
Then the phone call had to be made to the cousins who lived downtown. “The tree is up…hurry and come see it. It’s beautiful,” I exclaimed to cousin Carole on the phone.
Within the next couple of days Aunt Ilene, Uncle Wilbur and cousins Carole and Sharon braved the icy country roads to come see yet another dancing tree that protruded halfway out into the living room with one branch here and another there. Every year they took pictures of their country cousins’ tree and went away smiling. It seemed to make the city cousins’ Christmas season special for them to see such a gorgeous tree.
Mom always ordered several different kinds of candies from Sears and Roebuck catalog to arrive in time for Christmas Tree Day. She stored the tin cans of ribbon candy, chocolate peanuts, jelly-filled hard candies and taffy on the screened-in front porch. When the door to the porch was opened, the smell of that candy, mixed with the fragrance of the evergreen tree, filled the entire house with the aroma of Christmas.
Great care was given to our special tree. The bucket in which it stood received plenty of water each day. Rodney and I fought for that job. We liked crawling under the low branches and inching to the bucket on our bellies with the pitcher of water. Usually most of my water ended up on the floor and Rodney had to clean up the mess and finish the job. Nevertheless, we determined that this year all needles would remain on the tree until the very end.
For the next week, Virginia and I played dolls at the base of the tree. We stored our little plastic cups and saucers under the tree for quick tea parties. Rodney made fun of our dishes and dolls and lined his army men all around the bucket as if to protect the tree from the dolls taking over.
New Year’s Day signaled the close of the Christmas season. We never had as much fun removing all the icicles as we had putting them on, but we knew every bit had to come off. We carefully took down all the glass bulbs and wrapped them up for the next year. Then Rodney and Daddy carried the boxes up to the attic to be stored.
According to Mom, the season was not officially over yet. Mom laid bones on the tree branches and invited the farm dogs in for their Christmas fun. Those dogs could jump quite high for their Yuletide treats. In Mom’s opinion everyone needed some Christmas cheer.
Pulling our poor tree out of the house was never as difficult as taking it in. Drawing our once gorgeous work of art through the living room and kitchen left huge piles of needles behind. The base of the tree then had to be packed tight with snow to hold it up. We wadded pieces of bread into balls and molded them onto the needle-less branches for the hungry birds. The bare tree stood in the back yard for several days until Mom was sure that the birds had been fed sufficiently.
The last role for our tree was bittersweet for us. All together, we pulled it to the orchard and late at night in the cold winter air, it provided a warm bonfire to cook hotdogs and marshmallows pierced onto apple tree twigs.
Yes, every year our Christmas tree gave many hours of enjoyment for our family, as well as for many other living creatures on the farm. Those were special trees--lovingly sought out for a special purpose. Many memories were built at the base of those trees as my siblings and I crawled under the huge branches. It never mattered that our parents could only afford to give us small gifts every year; the Christmas season was always looked on as the best time. I think the tree had a lot to do with that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
