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THE PRETTIEST CHRISTMAS TREE ON THE MOUNTAIN

© Bertha Sutliff

When I was a child growing up in the northern half of Arkansas, searching for a Christmas tree was one of the big events of Christmas. Buying a live tree or an artificial tree was unheard of. Children worked for weeks at school and home making the perfect decorations for that mysterious tree that was yet to be found. Familiar words of "when are we getting the tree" seemed to be the utmost thought on each child's mind.

At my house, it usually arrived on a Sunday afternoon. Daddy only did what work had to be done on Sunday and that left some free time for him to spend with the family. He would load us all in the pickup and off to the woods we would go. I remember so many of those trips, all of us singing Christmas carols and arguing over who was going to help cut it down. There was one Christmas tree hunt that I remember above all the others.

It was a cloudy day and rather cool. Only a week until Christmas and we still did not have our Christmas tree. We were getting desperate. Mama said not to fret that Daddy hadn't forgotten.

After church that Sunday, Daddy announced to us that as soon as dinner (in Arkansas we call lunch "dinner") was over and the dishes done, we would go searching for our Christmas tree. We had to bundle up, the air was crisp and the clouds were very dark.

Usually we would all pile into the pickup and drive to the woods. This time Daddy said we were walking. That was more fun than riding in the pickup. All of us walking out to the woods and getting the perfect Christmas tree.

After what seemed like hours, we were all ready to give up. Where were all the nice round cedar trees? Whenever we did find one it would have a double trunk or thin on one side or a double top, something every time. Daddy told us we would walk over the next hill and if there weren't any there, then we would have to wait another day. It was getting close to milking time and he had to get home.

With our fingers crossed we walked the short distance over the hill. Suddenly Daddy motioned for us to be quiet. As we peeked over the knoll of earth, holding our breath so as not to make a single sound, we saw what Daddy was looking at. There, in a grove of red cedar trees, stood six of the most beautiful deer I've ever seen. It only took a second or two for them to get our unfamiliar scent. They raised their heads to the wind and leaped into a run. Before we could catch a second breath they were gone. But we had all gotten the opportunity to see them in their native habitat.

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