Charlie Brown Would Be Proud: The first Christmas tree in our Galena house

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Myra, Romay, and I put on our winter gear, grabbed the hand saw from the porch and stepped out into the dark and cold.  -20 in December does not really feel all that frigid in the interior where there is no wind, and all the water is frozen solid.

            “Are you sure about this?” Romay questioned as we trudged through the knee-deep snow out into the backyard in search of our quarry. 

            “We’ve got to have one,” Myra reassured.

            “It’ll be fine,” I added, the beams from our headlamps bouncing off of the snow banks and illuminating the snow-covered spruce.

            It was Christmas Eve and the Harris house was still without a Christmas tree.  Usually, people could confirm their calendars by the arrival of a lit tree in the window of our home, Myra setting the day after Thanksgiving as our traditional tree cutting and trimming date.

            This year we had a few other irons in the fire, and though John Denver and the Muppets were often heard singing Christmas carols in our house, it was because I was singing along while plumbing the toilet, or running the waste line from the bathroom into the main line leading to our sewage box outside or grouting the tile countertops in our kitchen.

            As a way to remove ourselves from the craziness that had been house building (we started putting in the foundation just before school got out in the spring and had a flushing toilet at the beginning Christmas break), we jumped on a RAVN flight to Fairbanks to do a little shopping, eat out, and enjoy the comforts of the city for a while.  We took a cab to the lot where our truck was stored and were met by a three-foot pile of snow that had been plowed directly in the way of our front wheels.

            “I thought they said they would make sure it was clear for us before we got here,” Myra said as I dug like a gopher without a shovel.

            I broke somewhat of a path, had everyone stand back, put the truck in four low and powered through.  We shopped, saw Christmas lights, waded through currents of people in Fred Meyers and then checked into the Extended Stay, plugging in the truck as the mercury dropped to -35.

            The next day I went to the parking lot to fire up the truck and make the cab more hospitable for my girls.

            Click, click, click, click.

            “Huh,” I said to only myself, “that’s not good.”

            Another dad who had gone to the parking lot on the same mission saw my predicament and offered a jump.

            Click, click, click, click.

            “Sorry, buddy, but I’m guessing it’s not the battery,” he said as he turned the collar up on his coat.

            I pulled a hammer I stored in the cab for building crates for shipping on barges during the summer months, shimmied under the truck and gave a couple of gentle taps on the starter only to be met by the same clicking.

            A quick walk to Fred’s for a cheap socket set, and I was under the hood looking for the solenoid.  I was afraid of my starter being brittle when struck by the hammer and now I was standing in the cold taking apart plastic covers to expose wires welded in place by the frigid temperatures.

            A couple hours later, and I dialed the phone with cold, nearly useless fingers for a tow to Sunshine Rays where I would happily pay people to work on the truck in a warm environment better on my body and the truck’s workings.

            Ray, or maybe it was Sunshine, had the truck back together after replacing a solenoid and starter, and we were able to pick it up on the 23^rd.  We had no intentions of staying in town this close to Christmas, but there we were.

            RAVN thankfully had seats on the Christmas Eve afternoon flight back to Galena, and the plane touched down just as it was getting dark.  No real time to prepare our normal Christmas Eve foods, we ate what would we could find.

            So, though not ideal, the extra couple of days had pushed us to the last minute to get our tree.

            “That’s the one,” I said as we stepped up to what could only be described as Charlie Brown’s ideal tree.

            “Uh, are you sure?” Romay questioned as this tree fell definitely short of what Mom’s normal standard was.

            Myra looked at her watch, “Ten to midnight,” she stated, “this one looks about perfect.”

            The trunk couldn’t have been more than three inches in diameter as I quickly drew the saw across it and dropped the tree unceremoniously to the snow.

            The three of us high-kneed it back to the house, stuck the tree in the stand, tightened down the screws as far as they would go, threw one strand of lights on it, and stood back to admire the first Christmas tree ever to go up in our new house.

            “Um,” was Romay’s stunned word, her expression telling much more than she was verbalizing.

            “Well, I’ve seen worse,” I consoled her.

            Myra looked back at her watch, “Ten after twelve, merry Christmas, I’m going to bed.”

            It was probably the worst tree we had ever had up in our home, but this one was in a house that was ours, built with our hands, paid in full, with a woodstove that kept us toasty warm.  The daughter is grown and on her own, the house is sold and we have moved on, but that tree and how we got it still makes it one of my favorites. 

            Our tree this year is full, sturdy, strong, and beautiful.  I’m not saying I will forget this year’s tree, but in ten years, that scraggly, little humble tree will still be a clear picture in my mind.

Christmas Tree 2019 in Unalakleet... slightly more full than Christams Tree 2010 in Galena.
Merry Christmas