The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, December 25, 1969, Image 15
The Newberry Sun, Newberry, S. C., Thurs., Dec. 25, 1969—SEC. B, PAGE 3
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been there all the time or had
just come over the brow of the
hill. But there he was. A big
man, with a big shotgun
cradled in his arms.
Dad was almost speechless.
"I . . . I . . . The kids wanted
a real Christmas tree. I didn’t
know ... I mean ...”
The man pointed over the
hill with the shotgun. "Walk up
that way."”
Dad hesitated. "Maybe we
had better go. Mother’s waiting
in the car. She might worry,
and ...”
The man pointed again.
"Walk.”
We walked. Over the top of
the hill and down a lane
leading toward a neat frame
house nestled among the trees.
Halfway there, the man
stopped. He pointed the gun
toward a nearby tree, perfectly
shaped, prettier than any we
had seen on the hillside. "Take
that one,” he said gruffly.
Dad looked puzzled. "Well,
really now, I think ...”
"Take the tree,” the man in
sisted. Dad began cutting the
tree and the man continued.
"Next year, ask someone
about cutting a tree. A man
likes to keep his hillside trees.
They prevent’ erosion.” He
patted me and Billy on the
head as he went by. "Merry
Christmas, boys.”
Dad didn’t waste any time
cutting down that tree and we
went back down that hill pretty
fast.
Mother didn’t say anything
until we had loaded the tree
and were headed homeward.
"I see you got away with it,”
she said, matter-of-factly.
Dad cleared his throat.
"Sure, but I got to thinking
that, in a way, you’re right.
Next year we’ll ask permission
if we plan to get a real out
door tree. It occurred to me
that a farmer might be partial
to a particular tree, specially
a hillside tree. You know, con
servation and erosion, and
that sort of stuff. Right, boys?”
"Right,” we both responded.
And, Tt being Christmas and
all, we felt there just wasn’t any
reason to say anything else.
"We’ll not have an imitation
or make-believe tree this year.
TTiis year we are going to the
woods and get a real old-fash
ioned tree.”
Sara Laurence, busy put
ting a pie into the oven, gave
no evidence she had heard her
husband’s declaration.
Sam was insistent "What
do you think of that, Sal, ole
gal?”
Sara wiped her hands on
her apron. "And, just where do
you plan to get this tree? Off
the state park premises? Do
you know any landowners
around here? Somebody
giving away free trees, for the
taking?”
Sam laughed. "I’m just
talking about one little old
Christmas tree. There are
woods all over the place a few
miles out of town. Who’ll
scream if someone cuts one
little old tree? I didn’t know
what a store-bought tree was
when I was a youngster.”
"Times have changed,”
Sara reminded. "Except for
the state park, land is privately
owned. What would the owners
think and do if everybody in
town came out just to get one
little old tree ”
We were well into the coun
try when dad pulled the car
off the road and leaned out
the window to inspect a nearby
hillside. "Aha, I see two or
three good trees. Let’s go,
gang.”
Mother hesitated. "Sam, I
don’t think ...”
"O.K., worrisome. You stay
and watch the car.” Dad
started up the hillside, Billy
and myself not far behind.
Dad looked over a couple
of trees. "One’s too small.
One’s a little flat on one side.
There’s the one we want.”
He stopped before the tree,
looked it over, and walked
carefully around it.
His axe was poised when
the gruff voice said, "Hold it,
there, Mister.”
We didn’t know if he had
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Nay the spirit of
brotherly love illominate
every heart and every
home at Christmastime.
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Newberry, S. C.
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