The Willow Glen Resident Photograph courtesy of Cookie Curci-Wright A Green Christmas: Phil and Scott Herold haul in a genuine pine tree, purchased in a Willow Glen tree lot in 1955. Remember When Only God can make a tree By Cookie Curci-Wright On Christmas day, in households across America, there are fragrant blossoms, graceful white pines, blue spruce, Douglas fir, scotch pine, and silvertips gracing the family home. Each of these trees is eagerly decorated by parents, grandparents, children and newlyweds in their own distinctive and individual way and each leaves a memory for the family to share. But few of these memories can compare to the one Mom gave us the year she built our family Christmas tree. It was 1955, the era of do-it-yourself America. A time when every member of the household had caught the do-it-yourself fever--remodeling, redecorating or revamping just about everything in the family home. Tool chests and workshop benches were filled to capacity with modern gizmos and gadgets for the home handyman and decorator. It was a time of great self- expression, competition and creativity. If something was good, then the do-it-yourselfer thought he could make it better with a nail over here and a whack over there. It was this mode of modern, independent thinking and self-expression that both possessed and spurred Mom on to create the family Christmas tree that season. For her birthday that year, Mom asked for and got her own high-powered speed drill from Dad, along with a thick do-it-yourself book. She used her new gift to reset the hinges on the screen door, realign the kitchen shelves, and install new knobs on the cabinet drawers. With these household successes under her belt, Mom decided to take her creativity one step further. With Christmas Eve just a few days off, Mom surprised us all by saying she was going to build a tree. Dad believed Mom was courting disaster in monkeying around with something so traditional and sacred, and he told her so. Taking her trusty drill in hand, Mom proceeded to follow her newly created plans. She drilled a countless number of holes into a tall, round closet pole. Then on a brisk December morning we happily hiked into the hills to help Mom gather tree branches for her project. Mom quickly set to work filling the holes she'd drilled in the pole. After long hours of trimming, shaping and snipping, Mom called the family in to see her finished work. Mom's creation looked great. That night, we all took part in decorating the newly-made tree. We layered our new tree with garland, ornaments, lights and tinsel. We went to bed that night happy and pleased with Mom's miraculous, ultra-modern tree, believing we were soon to be the envy of the neighborhood. The following morning we awoke and ran to the living room for another look. We were shocked and disappointed to discover that the once-glorious tree had dried up during the night. Its branches folded up tightly like a neatly closed umbrella. The ornaments, tinsel and lights had all cascaded to the floor, and lay in a heap at the bottom of the clump of branches. We all stood and stared in bewildered silence. We looked at mom, whose face was expressionless. We didn't know if she was about to laugh or cry. Her do-it-yourself handbook didn't have a page for this dilemma. Dad broke the silence with a chuckle that had an "I-told-you-so" ring to it. Suddenly we were all laughing--Mom the loudest. Dad put on his hat and coat and dashed out the door to the nearest tree-lot and returned home with a suitable silvertip. I can't remember much about the tree Dad brought home that Christmas Eve, but I'll always remember Mom's enthusiastic effort. Mom's tree might not have made it through the holidays, but the fun and memories she made for us that year will last a lifetime. [ Back to Contents Page | Willow Glen Resident Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Willow Glen Resident, December 9, 1998. ©1998 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.