Welcome to day six of the Winter Writing Challenge! Are you ready to get those creative juices flowing? All of your submissions yesterday were so fun. Let’s see what you come up with today!
Here’s your next prompt!
Write a Vignette about tying the Christmas tree to the roof of your car.
Think you’re up for the challenge? We can’t wait to see what sort of vignette you guys come up with. Oh, and remember, vignettes should be less than 500 words!
Not sure where to start with your vignette? Click this link to watch the video lesson: https://writers.company/courses/writing-challenge/lessons/what-is-a-vignette/
If 50 people post every day, we’ll all get one free month of Premium Membership to The Company.
Premium Members get access to Arche Year, which is an amazing novel-writing program. You’ll get professional guidance to write an amazing novel in less than one year. I can’t wait to do this with you!
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the poems and vignettes you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice.
2. Have fun!
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your vignette as an “answer” to this question. 🙂
You guys posted over 85 times yesterday, via this Q&A Board, Facebook, and Instagram! Keep up the momentum! You’re just one day away from your first prize: Discounts at The Company Store!
If over 50 people post 6 days in a row, everyone receives 10% off the merch in The Company Store! Don’t let this prize slip through your fingers!
Keep posting, and let’s get this! While you can get the prompt here, you must be registered to receive the prizes. Click here to register: https://writers.company/resources/winterchallenge
Happy Writing!
Alli Prince
How do I write about something I’ve never actually done? Well, my father always told me the only way to get something done was to actually do it. So, here I am on the road headed to the local Christmas tree lot to choose, wrap, lift and tie one to the top of my car. I had made a call for help from a friend and they gladly agreed to join in on my adventure.
As I drove into the lot the huge array of trees was almost overwhelming. Gathering the armload of supplies I had purchased for this exciting event I turned toward the lot and was instantly assailed with the huge scent of pine. I hadn’t gone too far into the lot when I stopped short and my friend barreled into the back of me. Almost dropping all the items, they looked at me inquiring why I had stopped so fast. I motioned for them to see what I saw, the most beautiful tree standing like a regal soldier there in the middle of the lot. How had no one seen it and snatched it up already? I ran over to it and walked all the way around its girth. It was indeed a magnificent tree. My friend agreed and without hesitating for fear someone else would rush over and grab it, we tipped it and proceeded to attempt carrying it, when an attendant came over and informed us that he could assist us if we needed it. We gladly said yes and thanked him. We then watched as he single handedly carried it over to this magical machine that would wrap our chosen tree to keep the needles safe on our journey home. They then offered to carry it to my car, but I told them that I needed to complete this adventure, but again thanked them for their assistance.
My friend and I then awkwardly lifted the tree and carried it into the parking lot to my car. Opening the back hatch I removed the two tarps and twine to finish this mission. Giggling like kids we clumsily proceeded to roll the heavy monstrosity up onto the top of my car and onto the two tarps which hopefully would protect the roof of my car. The attendant had given us a bit of advice to be sure to put the trunk toward the front of the car for aerodynamics, so when we got it fully onto the rooftop we used the twine as instructed to secure it down. After repeating everything to tie down the top we closed the doors and jerked on the tree a little to make sure it was indeed secure. Giving each other a high five for accomplishing this task we heard a loud cheer from the workers inside the tree lot as they too applauded our accomplishment. I had done it, with the help from my dear friend, I had successfully finished tying the Christmas tree to the roof of my car. What a great exhilarating experience and now it was time to go home and attempt to get it off my car. Oh, boy!
“Why are we doing this again?” I asked, trying to wipe the sap off my hands.
“Christmas tradition,” my husband replied. His cheeks were red with the exertion of getting the tree on top of the car. At least he had thought to bring gloves. Why hadn’t he warned me?
“That’s your family’s tradition,” I responded. “We’re a new family. We can make our own traditions.”
“But this one is so great. Here, catch.” He tossed me the end of the rope he was wrapping around the car.
“We won’t be able to close the windows like this.”
“So? It’s not like it’s raining. There was this one time…”
I was pretty sure I’d heard the same story before.
“Think how beautiful it will be,” he said.
I looked at the scraggly tree with doubt. We couldn’t afford the really good ones.
“And the smell.” He picked at a branch and sniffed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I think I could find the smell without the whole tree,” I grumbled.
He paid no attention, still admiring his find. “There’s nothing like it.”
Nothing like it, for sure. The year my family had tried a real tree, we were constantly vacuuming up pine needles. It was my job to keep it watered, and it always needed watering. The cat thought it was the greatest thing ever and knocked it down three times, breaking half our ornaments.
But the joy on my husband’s face couldn’t be argued with. I kept my mouth shut and got into the car, pulling my coat tight around me, preparing for the chilly ride home.
Maybe we’d have all the pine needles up by spring.
The sharp pine needles dug into my hands through the thin fabric of my gloves. I ignored the pain as I wrestled the large boughs into submission. Not using one of those mesh bags for the tree first was perhaps a regrettable decision. So was choosing a pine with hard needles rather than soft ones. Hurrying to finish before my fingers lost all feeling to the numbing cold, I exhaled in relief as the last knot slipped into place. For a minute, I paused to admire the results of my labor. Atop of my dull black car lay a medium sized perfectly shaped green pine tree secured firmly with lengths of white rope.
You insisted on a real tree. Therefore, I blame the dents and scratches on my prize SUV on you. Seeing as how there was no way to transport a six-foot Scotch pine except by fastening to a vehicle and seeing as how my vehicle was the only one available, I will forever have a reason to remember you well beyond this Christmas season.
Sure, it was an adventure, the 15-mile drive into the backwoods of Vermont to the 40-acre tree farm. We thought we had remembered all the tools and paraphernalia needed to find, cut down, and load an appropriate evergreen.
After considering many firs and pines and cedars, we finally made “the choice” that would turn our living room into a holiday delight. We didn’t really consider that when a tree is as wide as it is tall, there might be a problem securing it to the said vehicle.
What can I say to adequately convey the scene as we attempted to hoist the “perfect tree” atop the Cube? What should have been a triumphant lift and place became a grunt and smash.
How could you have thought that a tree can be carried and lifted with its outer branches? There I was, nearly invisible, tucked between branches, being pricked by two-inch needles in a valiant effort to hang on to the trunk. And there you were, grasping the thinnest tips, two feet from the center of the tree.
It therefore should have comes as no surprise that the entire plant twirled once, twice, and rolled back onto us both, ending up on the ground behind us.
Oh, did I fail to mention that we had not spread the protective blanket on the car’s roof? Come to find out we didn’t even have the blanket. That’s right. My beautiful green paint job with the pin striping was going to be at the mercy of sharp needles, branches, and bark.
If it hadn’t been for the farm owner coming to our rescue, he and his two strapping sons, we might still be there, lifting and rolling, grunting and being smashed. There wouldn’t probably even be a tree left after all the attempts to haul the pine onto the car.
Imagine, if you will, the tree now sticking up five feet at an angle, leaning precariously, in danger of having all the branches on one side being broken if we bound the mass with bungee cords. But we could not navigate the 15 miles home with this lovely “real tree” rolling off once again.
So what did we do?
This is how I will remember you: Sitting in the passenger seat, half in, half out of the window, holding on to that tree for dear life.
Crisp air, but thankfully no snow falls from the sky. While nothing says holiday season like fat flakes of the white stuff swirling through the air, we know it’s actually better to have clear skies on the day we pick out our Christmas tree and haul it home.
This year, the weather’s perfect. Cool enough to see our breath when we huff and puff as we wrestle the tree to the car. And mounds of snow from the last big storm still cover the ground. But the heavens, though overcast, aren’t dropping any fresh precipitation.
Thankfully, we brought the farm truck this time, learning from our past experiences with too-small cars and fluffy trees that slid back and forth on the roof our whole way home. The extended bed on our pickup truck is practically made for Christmas-tree hauling. After tying the prickly branches down with thick rope, we slide the slimmed-down tree up and over the lowered bed, and it fits perfectly length-wise. Wedged in with blankets on either side, it’s secure and ready for the trip to our cottage in the woods.
Now we feel overheated in our puffy jackets after all the exertion, and everyone sheds their cold-weather accoutrements as soon as we clamber into the truck and slam the doors. Coats, gloves, hats, and scarves are tossed into any available space, and we don’t feel the need to turn on the heater until we’re several miles down the one-and-a-half lane road. Maybe by the time we get home, we’ll be ready for the warmth of a toasty hot chocolate.
Tree Probs
By Lucas Helm
“Wow that tree is huge!” Lee exclaimed, “are you sure it’ll fit on the car?”
“Trust me,” Bob rolled his eyes, “I’ve don’t this before.”
The couple spent several minutes arguing over which way the tree should be facing on top of the car.
Once they finally reached an agreement, the two hoisted the large pine onto the top of the car, the suspension buckling under the weight.
“I really don’t think-”
“It’ll be fine!” Bob interjected
The two spent another several minutes trying to rope bungee cords over the top of the car and through the open windows. Ever cord they pulled, the tree bent slightly, threatening to snap several branches and destroy their hard work.
Eventually, they got it secure and Bob patted the pine saying, “That’s not going anywhere!”
The couple gingerly entered the car and turned the heat on full blast, as the windows were kept open to rope the bungee cords through. Even with the fiery air being sent into their faces, they still shivered on this cold winter morning.
As they car began to pick up speed, the tree buckled and the cords stretched, though neither of the couple noticed this concerning occurrence.
Eventually they reached a long stretch of open road with very few potholes. Bump! They must’ve managed to hit the one pothole in the entire stretch!
Within the hour, they pulled into their driveway, and stepped out of the car eager to deliver the tree into their living room.
“Bob, where’s the tree?” Lee asked in shock.
Bob looked at the top of the car, the snapped bungee cords dangling on the side.
“Well, here we go again!” he sighed.
- Pride is a stupid thing.
‘I can take it from here’ I tell the scrawny twenty something farm worker.
He plonks my 6’ Christmas tree, bark first, in front of me.He looks dubious, so I add
‘I’ll just heft it…’ What am I, a lumberjack?
The twenty something smirks.He shrugs and walks off before I can change my mind. It is frigid, and my breath plumes in front of me. The remote farm has an empty parking lot. Probably because of the weather, and probably because it is Christmas Eve. As usual, I have left things to the last minute. I was hoping I could get away with my pre-lit table tree that I usually plug in and forget about. But hosting Christmas for my brother and his new swedish girlfriend changed that.
‘Please make an effort’ my brother had whispered, almost desperately.
‘Hurdy Gurdy?’ I replied
‘I’m serious!’ he said, looking at me with sad eyes ‘She could be the one’
So here I was, making an effort for the ‘maybe’ possible Scandinavian in-law.
The tree is a sorry specimen, more twig than branch, more wilt than fresh – and three inches taller than me.
‘I am going to need your cooperation’ I tell it. I test its weight by tilting its axis, leaning it temporarily against the trunk of my Ford Chevy. The tree clearly does not want to cooperate. It slides backwards, nearly to the floor. I manage to get to the back end of the wooden stump. I am in an awkward squat. It is heavy. I barely manage to shift it up and groan with the effort. I am also aware that the twenty something has reappeared with two others, who are now watching this ungraceful spectacle. Pine needles splinter from branches and prick me with spite. I hunker down and brace myself like a sumo wrestler. I strain upwards and it moves an inch, one knee slips and I am slapped in the face by an indignant frond. The bark is now at my shoulder and I adjust the leverage.
I try again, and my other knee slips.
Now I am at the end of the tree, and my tether, begging.
‘Sure you don’t want help?’ Twenty something asks, behind me. I relent and he whistles his friends over.
They make easy work of getting the tree on the roof rack. I don’t have rope, so we tie together a bunch of scarves I had been meaning to take to goodwill.
The twenty something’s are laughing as I pull out of the car park.
I lean my hand out of the window and wave goodbye to them.
The tree thinks I am gesturing to it, and responds by slipping out of the cotton and wool constraints. It lands with a thud, back down on the soil. Bye.
I leave the ungrateful tree where it lands, and accelerate home.
I’ll play Abba and make meatballs instead!
I love Abba and meatballs, I think that would do the trick and rope in the Swedish girlfriend. (:
The Jones Family Farms Christmas Tree Lot at the corner of 34th and Main bursting with holiday cheer. The air was full of twinkling lights, jolly Christmas music, and the overwhelming scent of pine. And the staff was incredibly helpful.
That’s good because I needed all the help I could get.
We’d found the perfect Christmas tree: Scotch Pine. Perfect branches for ornaments. Perfect green. Perfect fragrance. Did I mention it was perfect? But at 9 feet tall, this thing was huge. There’s no way my little family of three could get that clump of branches and needles and sap home on our own.
The Jones Farms team grabbed the tree and ran it through a contraption that wrapped the tree in a plastic netting that pulled the massive branches close to its trunk, shrinking the tree’s diameter to a manageable size.
With the efficiency of an IndyCar pit crew, they hoisted the tree onto our crossover SUV’s roof rack and tied it down with twine. Before I knew it, we were headed home. It was the easiest Christmas tree buying experience I’d ever had.
Getting the tree up to our third-floor apartment?
That’s a different story.
Steve Johnson was not a happy man.
It’s colder than a . . .
He could already hear his wife’s scolding if he finished that sentence. “The children!” she’d exclaim. Instead, he continued walking, rolling his eyes and tugging the fleece-lined collar of his coat up until it brushed his ears.
Steve wasn’t a fan of Christmas. His childhood holidays had been filled with disappointment, leaving him with the firm belief that it was a day to be endured. Butt Charlotte loved it, the kids lived for it, so he went along–grumpily.
He would have sworn his nose was frozen solid had it not been for the constant dripping. Pulling a white handkerchief from the pocket of his brown corduroy pants, he swiped at his prominent nose with a huff. They had been wandering around this tree farm for what seemed like hours, and neither the kids or the “old lady”—as he affectionally (and silently) called Charlotte could find a tree they wanted.
How hard is it to find? They all look alike anyway, he groused internally as he meandered into a new line of evergreens that looked exactly like the one he had just left.
Then they saw it.
The kids shrieked with delight and ran like wild animals towards it. There it was. The mother of all Christmas trees. And the biggest.
“Of course they’d pick that one,” Steve muttered under his breath. “The biggest one of them all.”
Charlotte turned to him, wonder sparkling in her eyes. “Oh honey. Just look at it.”
“Yeah. I see it. How in the world are we going to get that in the van?”
A small Grinch-like grin curled on her lips. “Not in the van. On the van.”
“What?” Steve voice jumped at least three octaves.
“You keep ropes in the van. We’ll strap the tree on top of the car just like they used to do.” She rubbed her fuzzy-gloved hands together in anticipation. “This is going to be magical.”
“Hm.” Steve grunted. Then he looked at his kids with their faces aglow with unbridled joy.
Yeah. I can’t say no to that.
He watched them for a moment, the warmth of their glee thawing the coldness in his heart. Well, at least a little bit.
With a long exhale, Steve surrendered. “Alright, alright. Let me get the guy over here to cut the tree down and wrap it up.”
The kids stood by the tree with their mom, not daring to leave the spot lest someone else claim their Christmas tree.
After a quick chat with the burly tree farm employee, Steve returned with the man, who carried a chainsaw and mesh wrap. Had it not been for the kids bouncing all over the place, it would have been a much more efficient process.
The tree was heavier than expected and it took both men to carry—really, drag–it to the van. The employee studied the roof of the vehicle, stroking his long black beard. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how they were going to get the monstrosity up that high.
Tree sap clung stubbornly to Steve’s stiff gloves. “Well, I’m the smaller one so I guess I’m climbing on top.”
And climb he did—after far more effort than he cared to admit. His toes were so cold he half-expected them to snap off. He wasn’t as young or as agile as he used to be, but at least the exertion made him feel a little warmer. Finally perched on all fours atop the van, he called down, “I’m ready.”
This is the last year, he vowed silently. Charlotte will not talk me into a live tree ever again.
The employee bent down to pick up the trunk. Steve’s ten-year-old son watched, then burst into giggles behind his gloved hand. “Look! It’s a full moon!” he announced. His siblings collapsed against the frozen ground, howling with laughter. Steve even chuckled, puffs of warm breath escaping into the cold air.
Mortified, Charlotte swatted in the boy’s direction. Her eyes conveyed very clearly the weight of the consequences if the teasing continued.
After what seemed like a day and a half, the tree was finally secured tightly to the top of the van. The employee quickly retreated, clearly relieved to be done with the task. Steve collapsed into the driver’s seat, panting, sweating and smelling faintly like a pine-scented air freshener.
Charlotte rested her hand over his on the gear shift. “Thank you, honey,” she said softly, love and appreciation shining in her eyes.
“Thanks, Dad!” The kids chimed from the back. “This is the best Christmas ever!”
Steve looked at his family, drinking in the sight of their joy.
Yeah. . . This was worth it.
Snow crunched beneath heavy boots as the newly chosen tree was carried to the car. Dan and his son, wearing yellow leather work gloves and long sleeve flannels to protect their skin against the cold and the pines, hoisted the tree to the roof.
“Hold it still,” Dan shouted as he grabbed the straps to tie it on.
In the parking lot other families were loading their trees in their truck beds or strapping them to the roofs.
A forest of green and flannel. Not as perfect as those paintings of the red truck and the puppies, but the next best thing.
Dan pulled the strap tight, and slapped the car twice. “How’s that?”
“She’s holding,” his son shouted over the tree.
They met at the trunk to overlook their work.
No, not as perfect as the truck with the puppies, but maybe better since this was the real thing.
Snow crunches under our boots as we step out of the car. Squinting our eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun as it hits the snow, we trudge through the lot, searching for the perfect tree to take home. Our breath hovers in the air, forming a mist that disappears quickly. “Can I help you folks?” the proprietor of the lot asks in a raspy voice.
We shake our heads, and scan the lot again. There, to the left, leaning slightly, is our tree. “We’ll take that one,” Adam decides, and I nod my agreement.
“That’ll be thirty dollars,” the man stated, holding out his gloved hand. Adam shrugs, pulls off one of his gloves, and digs the money out of his pocket. “I’ll get someone to help you carry the tree to your car. You brought some rope to tie it on?”
“Yes,” i answer, wrinkling my nose against the smell of smoke from a small fire that burned in the corner of the lot.
The man nodded and yelled for one of the young men by the fire to help us carry the tree. The smell of pine replaced the smell of smoke as Adam and the young man lifted the tree and staggered to the car, awkwardly balancing the tree between them. They placed it on the roof of our sedan and i dug the rope out of the trunk, hoping we’d brought enough.
I uncoiled the rope, and tossed one end over to Adam, who then wrapped it around the top of the tree and passed it back through the car so I could toss it over again. The young man stood, holding the trunk of the tree steady as Adam and I pussed the rope back and forth, pulling it tight enough to keep the tree attached to the car without damaging the branches, or so we hoped. When the final knot was tied, we thanked him for his help before getting into our car. He trudged back to the fire, and we closed our doors and turned on the car, waiting a moment for the heater to kick in.
“Do you think it will hold?” I asked, taking my gloves off and glancing anxiously at the ceiling where the rope criss-crossed inside.
“It should.” Adam was confident. We carefully pulled out of lot with our tree, hoping that our knots would hold, as this tree meant more to us than just a tree and the rope was more than merely something to hold the tree snugly against our car. It was hope and dreams, and wishes and plans.
The Christmas tree, a magnificent beast of a Lodgepole Pine, was winning. I, on the other hand, was losing a battle of dignity against a single strand of orange twine that seemed to have a personal vendetta against my fingers.
“For the love of God, just hold it!” I grunted, trying to loop the twine under the roof rack.
Logan, standing on the curb with his arms crossed, just watched me. He wasn’t helping. He was supervising. Standing there for five minutes, he radiated quiet judgment, more suffocating than pine.
“Stop flailing,” he said, his voice flat. “You look like a scarecrow in a wind tunnel.”
“It’s the twine! It’s possessed!” I insisted, finally getting a loop around the trunk. I pulled, and the tree immediately shifted, threatening to slide off the other side.
Logan sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. He stepped forward, not to help, but to physically move me aside with a hand on my shoulder. “You’re tying it like you’re wrapping a present. It needs tension. It needs structure.”
He grabbed the twine, his movements economical and precise. In thirty seconds, he had a series of tight, symmetrical X’s across the tree, cinching it to the roof rack with the finality of a coffin nail. He gave the trunk a solid shake. The tree didn’t budge. It was part of the car now.
He wiped a single speck of sap from his hand onto his jeans and looked at me. “There. Was that so hard?”
I looked from the perfectly bound tree to him, then back at the pathetic knot I’d been attempting. “Yes.”
“Get in the car,” he said, already walking to the driver’s side. “And stop breathing so loud. You’re fogging up the windows.”
Years ago, we had a black pickup truck.
We’d wait impatiently in the November “cold” at about 4pm on the day after Thanksgiving. Even though it would only be sixty degrees outside, my brother, sister and I always brought our warmest jackets. We’d drive up to that white-top tent. “Christmas Trees Sold Here.” That’s the place. Can’t miss it.
We’d get out of the car, and Mom and Dad would always pick out a six-foot tree. I’d admire that earthy smell of the tree sap, never having a name for it, and my siblings probably did the same as I. Mom & Dad’s tree appraisals filled that sap-scented air.
“Let’s get a taller one.”
“This tree’s not right.”
“I can fill-in this gap here with ornaments.”
“Honey, please just pick one so we can go home!”
Meanwhile, my brother, my sister, and I all played hide-and-seek, hiding under greenery, playing peekaboo the “big-kid” way, and in the processes, getting the sticky sap all over our jackets. Eventually we would tire ourselves out.
“My feet hurt!!”
Mom & Dad finished picking the tree and all of us celebrated. A team of two Christmas tree farm workers would carry the tree to the front, place it on the stand of the shaking machine that removed the bugs, put the tree through a netting machine, and finally bungee it to the back of the truck. I’m surprised we could afford Christmas trees. The labor must have been expensive.
When we’d get home, Dad would drag the tree up the ramp to our house. I’d play cleanup crew by sweeping up the loose tree leaves into a dustpan.
Dad twisted the knobs to tighten the Christmas tree in our green stand while everybody else attached metal hooks to the ornaments. Dad would put up silver and green garland, then he’d put up the red lights, and we’d all hang ornaments. We’d put up the plastic ornaments first so that we little kids could be allowed to drop them without breaking them, and Mom & Dad would put up all the keepsakes.
A silly introduction to my characters from the book series I’m writing 😀
~Line Breaker~
The air was sweet and damp, each breath a frosted treat. From the overcast sky snowflakes performed a ballet. Each unique in look and the path they took. The light around was fading quickly, bringing an exhilarating chill. Snow surrounded the glowing forest.
Star-shaped fruit, glowing in hues of fiery red to chilling blue, hung from sly caramelly branches. Bitter but addicting, like chocolate, especially when it was covered with honey. Bushels of leaves, painted with splatters of every color imaginable dressed the tree with character.
Birds screamed in high pitched tittering, tricking your ears to thinking it was someone shouting random things like “I love lavender scent” and “Give me your socks”. An old truck sat in the middle of the road, pale mint chipping off in some places to reveal orangey-brownish, bumpy metal. It had all four tires, but one was so flat the truck leaned to that corner.
Dune stood several feet away from the old truck, buttoning and unbuttoning his crimson coat. His pale skin pinkening from the cold. Its sleeves were blackening from months of use without wash. He had earmuffs hugging his head; his coffee-colored hair, streaked with cream, sticking up in jarring angles. His arms were crossed over his scrawny chest, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth.
Griffin sat on top of the truck, hugging the synthetic tree with his whole body. Fake branches poking him in his tanned and freckled face, moving his gold nose ring around. He wore an orange puffy vest over a black long sleeve shirt, baggy black cargo pants, a pair of orange boots, and a cozy brown beanie. His muscles ached from holding it down, anticipating the moment when he could let go. “Is this tight enough Noa?”
Noelle was tying the tree down. The wind ruffled her light blue dress. She wore thick black leggings, a fuzzy light blue and white coat, and a plaid scarf that matched everything. Her face was rosy, color contrasting from the light shade she was. Her several sets of earrings glinted from the sunset peeking through the trees. She was pulling hard, grip tight on the rope, feet planted on the door of the truck. Sighing, she pulled a little bit harder. “Yeah, just need to tie it. I could use a little help.” She glanced at Sounder.
“Good job guys.” Sounder mumbled. His eyes were closed as he sat shivering in the cab, black puffy jacket pulled tight around him and his freckled flicked caramel skin. He had slits cut in the back for his bird wings, chocolate feathers fading into coal, wrapped around his body. He was holding his knees to his chest; the hood of his jacket was pulled over his head. Underneath his unzipped jacket he wore a cream tank top, extremely baggy pants with suspenders holding them up, and a pair of reddish brown, and white sneakers with a rip in the side of the left by the toes.
-A.H. Bradbury
Cherished Memory
It was many years ago when my boys were just teens, wearing work boots, Carhartts and baggie jeans. They didn’t really want to go but I insisted, their help I would need.
I’m known to be pretty self-sufficient, and I could do it just fine all by myself. But I felt it important to gather us three, to spend some quality time and pick out our tree. They think that they are too cool to hang out with me.
Out to the farm, we park in the lot, the boys grab a saw and out into the field we trod.
The trees, they all glisten in the mid-day sun. It’s like they are singing in the gentle wind gusts. The air is quite cold and it bites at us, despite our wearing coats, hats and gloves. The blowing sweet smells of Christmassy scents, makes me long for a cup of citrusy lemon tea.
The snow crunches under our boots as we search for this years perfect Christmas tree. They find one they’ve picked out. It’s crooked as all get out and looks like the Grinch’s Christmas tree but it has already been tagged by another family.
The boys both put on a pout, and turn to pick another one out. Weaving throughout the lot of trees, we finally find one we all agree. Both boys kneel down either side of the tree, they saw through the trunk cutting down the tree.
They each grab an end and lift the tree up, it’s stiff prickly needles go right through their gloves. They exchange some choice words that they get spoken for, then they shoulder the tree and peer through the dense green branches…I snap the picture that’s now a cherished memory.
The tree farmer bails the tree with a nylon mesh, it’s stretched and spun like a tight bundled nest. But unlike the others, who tie their trees on their cars, we only have to heft ours into the bed of the truck.
We all climb in and turn on the heat. Both boys are smiling and I think, just maybe, they’re happy that they spent this time with me.
“Christmas Tree’d”
“Oh Babe, it’s perfect!” I exclaimed, and clapped my mittened hands together. Partly in excitement, partly to restore the feeling to my fingers.
Once my perfectionist heart had selected the finest specimen, Bradley had chopped the tree down himself, shooing the hovering tree farm worker away with a courteous nod and a wave with his saw. Now he had the tree resting against his 6 ft frame, an arm around its girth like he was posing with it. I quickly saw the opportunity and made him freeze while I snapped a few rare pictures of my handsome husband.
“C’mon Girlie,” he groaned, the sheepish “why?” smile poking through despite his general abhorrence of photos without me in them.
“Allllright, that’s it!” I assured him, and slipping my phone back in my coat pocket, I reached for the base of the tree.
“Ah-ah, no can do,” Bradley yanked the tree from my reach, and threw it up on his shoulder.
“Bradley, you don’t need to play Superman 24/7 anymore, I married you, remember?” I laughed as he began to trudge out of the field.
“Tessa, what if I want to and you deserve Superman’s service, hmmm?” Bradley turned and winked at me without breaking his stride. I shook my head and blew him a kiss before following his tracks back to the parking lot.
Our Toyota Camry wasn’t exactly tree transporting material, but our conjoined bank accounts appreciated the miles per gallon. I bit my lip in contemplation as Bradley paid for the evergreen and sidled over.
“So we put the back windows down and string the ratchet straps through, right?”
Bradley nodded in confirmation. “I’ll hoist the tree up there, and then you and I can get the ratchet straps in place. Then we’ll drive home like fury so we don’t ice over.”
“Don’t scratch the paint!” I warned as he threw it up. I slid inside to start the engine and hit the back windows button. Icy branches rattled against the sunroof and I flinched when I saw the slippery needles smushed into the glass.
“Hey, we’re good, got the straps?” Bradley’s face appeared at the side door.
I got out and chucked the two straps through the window to his end. He caught them and with a quick jump balanced himself on the rear tire like a circus act. Clambering up on the other wheel with a little less grace, I tossed him my ends and he began to thread them into the metal rachets.
“What did your dad think about this maneuver, is it Dale approved?” I asked with a snicker.
“He offered me the Ram, but I said we’d be fine.” Bradley shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “The Camry can handle this, you can take a picture when it’s all set and send him proof of our handiwork.”
With a series of clicks, Bradley began to winch the straps up. The tree groaned and shifted and I raised an eyebrow.
“Tight enough Babe?”
“No way, you want this thing flying off the interstate?” He chuckled, pumping the levers with gusto.
“Yeah, no, but hun, you hear the tree, it’s rubbing already.” The evergreen’s middle was cinching like a Victorian lady’s corseted waist.
“It’s fine, I’ve got a lot more slack to go.”
“Ok, but Babe-”
“Tess-”
A sudden pop and a sound like falling icicles interrupted our parley. “Was that…?” I didn’t dare finish my thought. Bradley sucked his breath in and we both tumbled from our perches to peer into the car.
A chunky tree limb was calmly sticking through our sun roof, which could now be described as an “open concept” style. The remains of it lay strewn over the back seats and floor mats like crystalline confetti.
Bradley locked eyes with me. “Oh Girlie, I’m…I’m so sorry…I…”. It was a perfect picture of remorse and boyish guilt. So perfect, I laughed and pulled out my phone and caught the scene.
“I’ll send this to Dale, Babe, he’ll want to see our handiwork as you put it.”
Bradley groaned.
I grumble and growl as we heft the six-foot pine onto the roof of the silver Honda CRV. “I told you we needed to borrow your brother’s pickup.” I glare at my wife and jerk open the back door to grab the green and white nylon rope we had purchased on the way to the Christmas tree farm.
She sighs and rolls her pale blue eyes. “I told you, he needs his truck this weekend. Besides, that’s what they make roof racks for. Stop complaining; it will be fine.”
“Until this tree goes flying off the roof or slides over the hood.” I raise an eyebrow at her, somehow expecting her to see reason.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll tie it on better than that. I’ll go to the other side, and we’ll toss the rope back and forth. Just weave it between a few branches.”
I throw the rope to her and pretend to listen as she talks about how excited she is that the kids are all coming home for Christmas. Her voice rises above the sounds of other cars, mostly pickups, driving off with their Christmas tree treasures.
“Ok, here it comes.” I look up to catch the rope she should toss back to me, but hear instead the rustle of branches as it lands somewhere in the middle of the tree.
“You’ll have to pull it back and try again. It didn’t make it over.”
More rustling and a few grunts later, she yells over the roof. “Come help me. The rope is stuck.”
I trudge around the vehicle, wrestle with the rope, and finally grab the knife and start cutting. “How did you get this so tangled?”
She shrugs and smiles sweetly. I guess I’m just not good at this kind of stuff. “You can probably do this faster without me.” And with that she climbs into the passenger seat and turns on the Christmas music.
The forest green Nash Statesman was made for tree toting. On that snowy first Christmas with the Nash, we all gathered at the tree farm to choose the best tree ever. The six foot beauty we chose was perfectly shaped. From top to bottom, it flowed over the top of our Nash Statesman like an infurled sail preparing to take flight. But first, we had to secure our chosen beauty for the long trip home.
As the snow came down harder, we three stepped back so dad, the expert on all things lashing, took matters in hand. Under and over, through windows and back again; the beauty wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, we could get into a warm car but it seemed that we, like the tree, weren’t going anywhere either. We stood there admiring the secured tree but not so much the doors which were now tied closed.
The three of them met once a year in december and were together for three whole days. The first one, Jones, drove the chevrolet and had a long mustache that could be gathered around his neck. Otherwise, he was tall and thin as a pine tree, and his entire outfit was made of leather, but it looked like it was riddled with bedbugs.
The second one, Felto, always sat next to the driver and was a very large guy who always had something to eat in his hands. If they were busy, he would put the food in his pockets, and since it was never small, it was always noticeable.
The third one strongman, Mute, always stood in the back seats and was silent or asleep most of the time. However, when it came to business, he would stick his head between the two seats and constantly interrupt the conversation with repetitive questions.
“I warn you both!” Jones began. „That you always have to shake out the pine needles because my car has become like a pine forest. And you, Mute, take the liberty of dragging some branches… for home.“
„I like the decorations too… but since you’re making a fuss about it, I’ll put them in the trunk.“
„You won’t put them anywhere else, only on top.“ – and Jones pointed upwards, and actually at the upholstery, on which there was a large hole that came out into the fresh air from above, and he always plugged it with wooden plugs that always falling out.
„Heh.“ – Felto joined in, swallowing and opening a new pack of protein treats. „The most important thing is to get the trees, and everything else is nonsense.
The car stopped at the corner of a decent house. Mute and Felto got out of the car and wrapped up to their ears in clothes and headed for the house.
After about a dozen minutes, something clattered on the roof of the chevrolet, and Jones immediately jumped out and hissed:
„How many times have I told you that my car is not a coal-loading body!“
„You shut up now and help!“ – Felto scolded him. „The tree is big and we barely dragged it.“
All three of them tried very hard to secure the tree to the roof of the chevrolet, and several times one of the three could hear muffled cries from one of the three, because of a needle or a twig pricking it. But finally they managed to tie it tightly and got into the car. Felto was the first to say:
„It’s a good thing there were no owners, because we thought the tree was one of the grafted ones, but it turned out that it had grown there.“
„You didn’t cut it down, did you?“ – Jones was surprised.
„What do you think?“ – Muto replied and rubbed his hands. „For a hundred dollars a piece, I could cut down a whole forest if you wanted, haha.“
Then the car started up and drove away, and before long they reached a truck in the forest, from whose trunk protruded a dozen freshly harvested fir trees.
Before Kelly’s mom left, the Christmas tree been small and artificial. Easy to set up, quick to decorate, and it didn’t take up much storage space. Practical. Efficient. Like the Honda Civic her mom drove away in.
Standing at the edge of the Christmas tree lot, choking on the piney freshness of all the dead trees, Kelly watched the Hallmark Christmas drama unfolding before her.
Yara had brought her kids, Jamal and Rihanna, over to the house to help decorate the tree. When she saw the box with the tree on the living room floor, her response was definite. “Oh hell no.”
Before Dad could frame a reply, Yara had drug Jake away from his computer and loaded them all up in Dad’s new Suburban.
“Where are we going?” Jake was a little grumpy but curious. So far, Dad and Yara had been taking things slow when bringing their families together. Neutral activities, new restaurants, nothing that had echoes of “old family traditions.” This felt like a serious escalation.
“The Christmas tree lot at the mall. We’re going to pick out a real tree.” Yara’s determinedly cheerful tone brooked no argument.
Jake looked at Kelly with wide eyes, but she just shrugged, watching the back of Dad’s neck turn pink. Jamal bounced in the third row.
“Yay, yay, a Christmas tree! Can we get a big one? Mr. Webb…” Rihanna poked him.
“Uh, I mean Parker, has a big house. He could get a giant tree!” Jamal’s enthusiasm wasn’t the least diminished from stumbling over the relationship names.
“We’ll see.” Yara looked over at Dad with a smile. His neck flushed darker, but he smiled back.
So here they were at the tree lot, with Dad holding an 8-foot Douglas fir or blue spruce, some kind of pokey, smelly tree, next to their car looking bewildered.
Having picked the “perfect ginormous tree,” Jamal and Jake were playing hide-and-seek through the tree lot.
Rihanna stood silently next to Kelly. She was a quiet, serious, 11-year-old, but Kelly appreciated that she didn’t bug her.
“How are we going to get it to your house?” Rihanna’s soft voice was almost a whisper, giving Kelly the option to ignore her if she chose.
“I have no idea.” Kelly shrugged with her palms up. “We’ve never had a real tree.”
Rihanna looked surprised. “Never?”
“Nope. Just a small fake one. No muss, no fuss.”
Rihanna mulled that over. “How do you make you house smell like Christmas without a real tree?”
Now it was Kelly’s turn to think. “It just smells like normal.” She gazed at Rihanna’s serious face. “What does Christmas smell like?”
Rihanna’s face lit up. “Pine tree, hot chocolate, sugar cookies, and candy canes!”
The tree lot man arrived with a chainsaw and a clump of rope. With a roar, he sawed a couple inches off the bottom of the tree. With practiced ease, he lifted the tree over his head and onto the top of the Suburban.
Dad’s jaw dropped and his face paled as he listened to the branches scratching along the roof of his new car. The tree man hollered at a nearby teenager, who went to the far side of the car. They tossed the rope back and forth, looping it under the Suburban’s roof rails, securing the tree.
With a cheerful nod, the man picked up his chainsaw and left Dad was starring at his car in shock. Yara started calling. “Jake, Jamal, get over here or we’re leaving you behind!”
Kelly held out her hand. “It looks like our house is going to smell a bit like Christmas. Maybe you and your mom can help us get more Christmasy things going.”
Rihanna nodded with a shy smile and accepted Kelly’s hand as they walked towards the car.
With the help of the friendly salesman, we hoist the perfect Christmas tree up in the air. I can’t wait to bring it back home. Usually, the whole family picks out a tree at the Dudley’s Tree Farm every December, but since Dad has been working nonstop to help pay off Mom’s medical bills, we couldn’t squeeze in time to pick a tree out. Plus, Mom needed to stay at home and continue to rest.
My younger sister weaves in and out of some other trees in the distance. I call her over and she comes prancing in her large pink rainboots and oversized coat.
“Hey, odd request, but could you take a picture of us?” I ask the salesman who has helped me out all day.
“Sure.” The guy takes my phone and my sister, and I point to the tree tied on top of my vehicle.
We smile at the camera then the guy hands me back my phone. Every year Mom gets a picture of my sister and I pointing up at the tree, secured on the roof of the car. It’s kind of a tradition.
Before hoping in the car, my sister pats the door, her arm reaching up to the tree.
“Is this used to tie it up?” she asks, tugging on the rope.
“Yep,” I reply, taking one last breath of the cold, fresh air with a distinct hint of pine needles lingering around.
Right as I turn on the engine, I hear a loud noise. Turning to my right, I see half of the tree hanging off the side. Well shoot. I guess that’s what happens when Dad isn’t here to make for certain that the ropes are secured correctly.
I guess the surprise will have to wait a bit longer since we won’t be getting home quite yet.
The pale look on Unc’s face told us all we needed to know. We’d gotten the last Christmas like all the years before, and they were outta of rope. So, it was up to Unc’s ingenuity to strap ‘that bad puppy’ to the roof Maguyver-style, “part wit, part know how, part make it up as we go,” he said, rumbling thru the trunk: a treasure chest of miscellaneous stuff kept well beyond years.
At his first attempt, he wrapped the tree with orange utility tape from one side to the next. One time over when the tape ran out.
Then he strung a bungee cord across to make sure the tree wouldn’t move, but then realized he couldn’t close the door. On the count of three, actually four we all ran for cover when he unleashed the expandable rope, slinging it into oak tree alongside the road.
Next he tied fishing line, boasting this was one no could see as he flatten our beloved, blue fir tree to our car with the assistance of old torn rags strung together like rope that I helped tie together.
Finally, after a few tugs and reassurance that the tree was absolutely not going any where, we headed home with our overly secured tree.
Prayerfully hoping, it was still a tree once we reached home, and not a stick like years before stuck to the roof of our car.
Ironic, right? I mean, I was a boy scout. I should know knots. But Annie spent eight years in the navy. And before that she sailed with her father and her brothers. She knew ropework; she knew how to secure things. Now, with her gone, I was lost, struggling to tie this year’s Christmas tree – my first without her – to the roof of her jeep with granny knots, my fingers cold and sticky with sap and hoping for the best.
“Annie,” I whispered, my breath ghosting into the cold December air and my vision blurred with sudden tears. “Annie.”
Without her I was adrift, untethered…