December 17
THE countdown to Christmas in our household begins with the annual Christmas tree hunt, usually conducted, with much drama and excitement by the men of the family. on this, the Day of Reconciliation public holiday.
The acquisition of a chain saw has made the operation easier in recent years but I think my husband still hankers for those simple campaigns conducted with rusty hand tools by him and our two sons – before they grew up and left the nest. As grown-up children are wont to do these days, said sons spend plenty of time wandering around their global village and aren’t always home for the festive season. So perhaps the hefty chainsaw is a good idea. Husband isn’t getting any younger!
The tree hunters set off to search for suitable candidates on the outskirts of the little KZN coastal town where we live. This year the party is made up of husband, one son, one daughter-in-law (in an advisory capacity) and a visiting relative, new to the sport of tree hunting but showing great enthusiasm for it. Their quarry is one of the the invasive alien pine trees that, if left unchecked, will nudge out the native trees from the remaining pockets of natural vegetation. Cutting these trees down makes ecological sense, they point out. I have to agree but deep down I must admit that one of those nifty, evergreen, fold-up artificial species makes a great deal of common sense to me.
You see, pine trees are very spiky, droopy branched trees that are difficult to decorate. Once plucked and decorated, they are thirsty trees that tend to turn brown if one forgets to water them. Which is what one tends to do over the busy Christmas season. What is more these trees are inveterate shedders, on a par with the fluffiest of hounds or a Persian cat. My concerns are dismissed by the tree hunters as they bring home their trophy. I groan inwardly at its the size. It is huge and has to be trimmed to fit through the doorway.
After setting up the unwieldy object in a suitable container in its allocated corner, the tree hunters arm themselves with various refreshments and leave me to decorate their prize. The less experienced member of the party is suffering from pine needle eye, a rather painful condition and an occupational hazard the other tree hunters – and the decorator – have learnt over the years to avoid.
Balancing precariously on a chair I haul out my huge stash of Christmas tree decorations, a product of my magpie tendency to hoard things shiny and bright and my over-developed sentimentality regarding all things related to Christmases past. Some of the tinsel has lost its gloss and the glittery paint is fading, even peeling off the older baubles, but they’ve been part of our Christmas celebrations for so many years. The worst ones can go at the back of the tree where they will be less visible.
As for the Christmas fairy, she really is past her sell-by date. She should be retired I suppose but how do you tell a Christmas fairy that she is about to be deposed? Particularly a fairy made with love by someone special so many years ago. I find some glue and glitter and soon the fairy is happily back on her favourite perch at the top of the tree, looking as good as – well almost as good as – new.
It takes me hours but eventually every branch on the tree is dripping with gaudy decorations and draped with chain upon chain of the glittering Christmas lights we have accumulated over the years. It’s been hard work, gathering and decorating the tree but every bit of effort is worth it when I see the excitement on the face of our toddler granddaughter. We heat up the traditional post-tree hunt mince pies, fill a cup or two that cheers, gather up family and friends and toast the advent of the festive season.
December 19
I arrive home burdened with packages of food after braving the horrendous festive season traffic jams, the crowded malls and the unrelenting heat and humidity of a typical December day at the coast. I notice with horror that the tree is turning brown. Have I forgotten to water it again? It has also begun to shed quite seriously. I sigh, sweep up the needles, replace some fallen baubles and provide the sagging tree with liquid refreshments before settling down to a well-earned cup of tea. Fat Feline is eyeing the tree with interest.
December 23
Returning from yet another foraging expedition and the mayhem of the malls, my arms laden with last-minute gifts and more food supplies, I glance at the tree and notice that something is not quite right. Assorted decorations are scattered at its feet and bits of tinsel have escaped its branches. I take a closer look and see a distressed Fat Feline sharing the topmost branch with an indignant Christmas fairy. I fetch a ladder and, with some difficulty, mount a rescue operation, in the process dislodging the Christmas fairy and injuring her wing. I straighten the wing, dispense more glue and glitter and replace fairy. After much scavenging under tables and chairs I round up and replace the escaped baubles. I find some antihistamine cream and treat the pine needle rash I sustained during the rescue mission.
After giving Fat Feline a good scolding I settle down to a well-earned cup of tea. On the plus side, the emergency revival measures taken yesterday seem to have worked. Although still a bit droopy the tree is once again looking fairly green.
December 24
Amazingly, the tree survives a game of catch with Fat Feline and toddler granddaughter. It survives further depredation by sundry visiting small people, egged on by toddler granddaughter who would very much like to have the Christmas fairy in her grubby little hands. I suddenly realize I have forgotten to water it again. Fortunately it still looks fairly green after I move the decorations around a bit to cover its brown spots. There are a lot of dead pine needles scattered in a wide arc around the tree so I do a massive sweep-up before the traditional placing of the Christmas presents round its feet. Various visitors eventually depart, taking with them sundry, tree-damaging, over-excited little people. A pre-Christmas calm descends on our home – the calm before the storm I suspect. I am about to make us a well-earned cup of tea but husband beats me to it and passes me a glass of good red wine. We drink a toast to our stalwart survivor of a tree. Did that Christmas fairy really wink?
December 25
Sundry little people, included a thoroughly overexcited toddler granddaughter, were up at 4am this morning to check on Santa’s stash and they made quick work of emptying the bulging Christmas stockings. In no time at all the bright, beribboned gifts at the foot of our tree were unwrapped and exclaimed upon. The resulting sea of wrapping paper was quickly reclaimed and added to the recycling bin and an amazing amount of pine needles was swept up during the tidying up operation that preceded the arrival of the dinner guests.
Our honoured guests were duly warmly received and soon we were all partaking of the gargantuan meal that we had prepared. Toasts were drunk to absent family and friends – sorely missed at this time of year – and a merry time was had by all.
The spirit of Christmas has been a welcome visitor in our home all day and she has brought with her the gifts of love and joy and the incomparable merriment of a grand family celebration. Now she has taken her leave, along with our day guests, and our resident house guests have taken themselves off to bed, leaving husband and myself alone to reflect on yet another Christmas past.
We switch off all the lights except the ones on the tree and fill our glasses with the contents of an abandoned half-empty bottle of good red. Lit by the twinkly Christmas lights the tree is looking amazingly perky. Perhaps it is my imagination but the branches even seem to have lifted a bit. As for the Christmas fairy, her wings are a little askew and she is shedding her newly acquired glitter at a fairly rapid rate, but she definitely looks good for another year.
Somewhere a radio is playing and the sound of Christmas carols drifts through the open window. ‘Silent night, Holy night’. The carol finishes, there is some chatting and then another song begins to play.
‘Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree, Of all the trees so lovely….’
