THE LITTLE GREEN CHRISTMAS TREE

It was in the fall of 1946, a short time after moving into Granddad’s big White House. My Daddy had been sick with pneumonia and the cotton crop had failed. All through November and into December he lay ill. The loan for the seed and the fertilizer had not been fully paid. The General had been doing her best to nurse him back to good health but nothing seemed to work. After exhausting all her home remedies, the doctor was summoned. He prescribed some powders from his bag, but the sickness lingered on. My brother and I continued to trudge the one and one-half miles to catch the school bus. We busied ourselves with schoolwork, our chores at home, and tried not to think about what was going on around us.

The fall catalog had arrived. I loved the section in the back where the toys were featured and spent many long hours looking and dreaming. As we entered into December, and with all the talk of Christmas at school, I started preparing for the arrival of Santa Claus. The General told us to make a list and we’d mail it to the North Pole. My hopes were high, and I nagged her about what I might get. I’d picked out a red wagon. There was a Roy Rogers holster with two cap guns that I really wanted too. We’d talk of all the wondrous things that Santa carried around in his pack. I’d write my letters daily, changing my mind, and advising Santa of my new wishes. I’d then give the letters to the General to mail.

One afternoon, a few days before the long awaited day, we were all gathered in the living room. “I saw a little pine tree over on the bank of Swan Pond last summer,” the General said. My brother and I stopped our nagging each other and stood listening. “I think I’ll go over there and cut it down so we can have a nice Christmas tree,” she added. Pine trees weren’t indigenous to our part of the country. Ash, oak, hickory, sweet gum and cypress were, but it was rare indeed when one found a pine. My beloved brother and I became excited at the prospect of having our own Christmas tree. We promised to be good and carry in the water and wood and take good care of our Daddy while she was gone. The General put on a pair of My Daddy's old black gum boots that reached up to her knees. She then wrapped an old faded, gray scarf around her head, and put on an old black overcoat that had belonged to my Granddad. I remember it reached down to her boot tops. She then went out to the woodpile and picked up the ax that had been left sticking in the chopping block. We stood in the window watching her as she disappeared into the dark, gray drizzle.

Along about dusk she returned, carrying in her right hand a little, green tree about two feet high. “This will be nice here,” she said, placing it on top of the old Singer sewing machine that stood against the wall next to the door. She then rummaged around in the kitchen until she found an old lard bucket. “Take this and put a little dirt in it, Dick,” she said. I was back in a flash. She then covered the container with some red colored paper. We didn’t have any store bought decorations but the General was not to be discouraged. She popped up some popcorn and strung it on four, six-foot long pieces of sewing thread. Being fascinated by the whole thing, I followed her into her and My Daddy’s room as she continued to work. There, she lifted the lid on her old trunk and took out some red, blue, and green crepe paper. Returning to the kitchen, she found some old lard cans and filled them with water and submerged the colored paper. I stood enchanted as I watch the water change to beautiful colors. She then dipped the strings of popcorn in the water. Soon, the white popcorn took on the color of the water. “We’ll hang these along the wall here and let them dry and tomorrow we can put them on the tree,” she said.

The next morning my beloved brother and I were off to school. Upon returning, I found there were two packages on each side of our little tree. One was about the size of an apple wrapped in a brown paper bag. The other was wrapped in flimsy white paper about the size of the family bible. The General noticing our excitement went to the long strings of colored popcorn and checked to see if they were dry. “Darrel, you and Dick take these and drape them around the tree,” she instructed. I was beginning to really feel the Spirit of Christmas. The General had moved My Daddy into the living room where he could be near us. He watched silently from the bed.

When we finished decorating the little tree it really looked quite nice, and we were very pleased. It was a little small, but we were lucky the General had remembered it. She told us she had seen it last summer while picking blackberries and had made a mental note of it. The General was always thinking of things like that. We sure were lucky to have her for our mommy. My Daddy was sick, but she would see to things. I wasn’t worried about that.

The kitchen and living room joined in the front part of the house. The living room was heated with a small heating stove called a King Heater and it kept the room nice and warm. It sat on a small, brown piece of metal an inch thick that extended out on each side about four inches. This served to catch live coals that might fall out when wood was added to the fire. The cooking was done on a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. The General was constantly cooking pies, cakes, breads, stews, dumplings, bacon and eggs and making coffee. The smell of food cooking was as much a part of our home as the furniture. We were surrounded with a feeling of love and security. My Daddy was going to be all right and Santa Claus was coming. It was indeed a special time of year.

We had just finished with the tree. I saw the General give My Daddy a knowing glance. “Please, Dick, you and Darrel come sit down. I want to talk to you,” the General suddenly said, and led us into the kitchen. As we sat down at the table I looked at the General’s face and she had taken on a very serious look. I started getting an uneasy feeling. Maybe My Daddy was going to die. The General had picked up a dishtowel when she sat down. She looked down at it, hesitated a moment, and then started turning it over and over in her hand.

“You know your Daddy is very sick and we've had to pay the doctor a lot of money this year,” she began. My brother and I looked at each other and waited. “The crop wasn’t that good this year and we didn't quite get the farm loan paid off. We're going to be okay, as we have all we need right here around us. But the thing is, there ain’t a lot of money for extras,” she said and hesitated again. “You boys are old enough to know there’s no real Santa Claus," she added, as she looked down at the dishtowel and continued turning it over and over.

Suddenly, the world stopped. Everything in me screamed that this couldn't be. Just yesterday, the General said he’d bring me my little red wagon, or at least the cap guns. I started to cry. I couldn’t bear it. Santa Claus had died right there at the kitchen table. I knew My Daddy was listening from the other room. The house had become quiet as a tomb. I knew from the look on the General's face that she had told us the truth. A great cloak of sadness fell around us. The General cleared her throat, “I’ve got you a couple of things for Christmas but it's not much. I wanted to tell you now, so you wouldn't be too disappointed on Christmas morning,” she added. Disappointed! My frustration turned to anger. It just isn’t fair. All of those things in the catalog; why can't I at least have the cap guns, I wondered.

This was on the twentieth of December. Well, at least there were two presents for me under the tree. The following evening when my brother and the General went to cut wood and My Daddy had fallen asleep. I went over to the tree and looked down at the little brown package. It had been folded down and neatly tied with a white string. I gently undid it, unrolled the bag, and looked inside. There I saw a yo-yo. It was white on one side and red on the other. Lying to the side of it was a little white whistle attached to a black leather string. My heart sank with disappointment.

My love for the General was great. I knew she had done the very best she could. I was determined not to let her see my disappointment. I started preparing myself mentally for Christmas morning. I couldn’t get into the larger package as it was taped closed, so I tore a little hole in the paper and took a peek. I could see it was a blue piece of clothing. Not being a toy, it was of little interest to me.

Christmas morning, I awoke and went into the living room. My Daddy was sitting up in bed trying to smile. The General handed us our gifts; I opened the little package and took out my yo-yo. I put the whistle in my mouth, gave a big blow, and a shrill whistle came out. I took the yo-yo, unwound the string, and started moving it up and down. “Come over here, Dick. I'll show you a few tricks with that old yo-yo,” offered My Daddy.

“Open the other package, Dick,” the General suggested. I ripped it open and found a little, navy blue jacket. I put it on feeling quite well dressed. There was an orange, apple, pecans, and some hard candy piled in a dish on the library table. The day was not so bad after all. The General cooked up one of last year's old laying hens and made a big pot of dumplings. My beloved brother and I went screeching through the house blowing our whistles. My Daddy was getting well and the General was taking care of us. It was truly a great life.

In the years since, I’ve often wished I could return to that long ago Christmas. I would take the catalog, sit down, and order that little red wagon and those cap guns with the holsters for the little boy that lives inside of me. The General would certainly approve. I can only guess at the pain that she must’ve felt, not being able to fulfill our dreams. I can see her in my mind’s eye as she leaves to cut that little pine tree. The black boots are sloshing along, as she holds on to the ax and moves up the ol’ muddy road toward the woods off in the distance. I never thought about it before, but maybe the General and My Daddy had some things they wanted that Christmas, too.