not buying trees...

... for Christmas is a great and grand family tradition. When visiting my brother recently, there was conversation about trees we had years ago. The trees I recall were all the most irritating, prickly, itchy red cedars that grow wild/volunteer along fence-rows across south. You often find bird nests in them, as they would be a great place to lay eggs and raise a family due to how difficult it would be to get past all the prickles to rob a nest or abscond with hatchlings.

I don't recall any trees we had that were bought, purchased from a store or tree lot, as they all came from the woods or off the property of a farmer who thought the red cedar was trash.  In reality: there was no option, no people who brought in cut trees and set them up on corner lots for purchase. The small town where I lived had a few for sale at the local grocery store, propped up by the entrance, but there just were not places that sold holiday trees and greenery.

Those disagreeable red cedars are remarkably itchy when you cut them down and put them in the truck to get home and take in the house. Fit into the tree stand, and place in front of the window. Even more prickly when you are hanging ornaments, strings of lights and little foil icicles from each branch and twig. And prickliest of all when they have been sitting inside in heated air for a couple of weeks, dry out and start shedding. When you have to reach your hand in the itchy stuff to remove all those ornaments and lights.

The last one I recall: going with my brother, in my dad's truck, traveling down the dirt roads and by-ways of the county. Bumping down a farm lane, eyeing the fence rows, hoping to spot one the right size. Hard to do, as the one that looks perfect growing in the wild, is often far too big when you get it in the stand and in the house with eight foot ceilings. We finally thought we spotted the perfect one.

Jumped out of the pick-up, with hand saw and made quick work of cutting the volunteer cedar down. Put it in the back of the truck, and hopped back in to head home. When we were chased down and stopped by a man who asked who we were and what we were doing? I fully expected to be handcuffed, remanded to the sheriff. The farmer thought we were stealing his pecans, since we were parked along the edge of the road near his orchard. After the interrogation, he let us go on our knee-knocking way when we confessed to stealing a worthless, prickly red cedar to decorate for Christmas.