When I was a kid we always went out to the woods near Columbus, woods which were a part of someone’s pasture land, to cut down either a fir or a pine. I loved these excursions. We were all together and on the same mission. My dad would cut down the chosen tree and load it into the horse trailer behind the pickup. [The horse trailer was one he had welded out of pipe. It was open and small, able to hold two horses.] Then we headed home, and it was always the same; the tree which looked so modest outdoors was always too tall for the living room, even the 11' ceilings we had at the house on Travis.
Decorating it was the next big event. The lights had to be laid out on the floor and untangled and checked for burnt out bulbs. Next we had to get the angel on the very top of the tree with a white light inside her (him?). Then the glass balls, aluminum bells, and a couple antique ornaments (a fragile church and lamp which I still have).
My dad, a serious procrastinator, would wait until what Gram considered “the last minute” to go on the tree expedition. She loved to decorate and wanted plenty of time for getting things perfect. I didn’t care. I loved it.
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