A Charlie Brown Christmas tree was a reality to this farm kid. We paraded through the woods until we came upon a young white pine. With luck it would have four or five branches and no more than 4 feet high.
Our father constructed a tree stand out of scrap lumber. Mom had a few time-worn balls with most of the shine gone. No lights. Just a few popcorn strings and construction paper chains to cover the scarcity of limbs. My parents never dreamed of a Vermont beauty.
Each of us kids was given two dollars to buy gifts in the Kresge’s five and dime. By Christmas morning lots of tiny awkwardly wrapped gifts graced the space under the tree.
I can’t recall anything I received. I remember aunts and uncles filling the warm kitchen on Christmas. The men folk hunted small game in the morning while the women put finishing touches to the favorite dishes. Of course I can almost taste the pumpkin pie and egg custard pie. Lemon meringue with tiny molasses droplets on top came in third.
At church every kid received a big navel orange, a rare treat. An animal cracker box with a shoe string handle was filled with candy. What else could a kid ask for?
I recall that the eight of us siblings had mastered the art of scrapping and the grace to forgive.
This week I phoned two of my sisters. At the close of the conversations I heard the words I love you. Those words were inspired by the Creator of our Charlie Brown trees.