THE FIRST SILVER CHRISTMAS TREE
Reva T. Jensen
Santa Maria, California
Senior Division
Honorable Mention #1 Short Story
Sunday evening stories were always a happy time when we sat around the pot-belly stove, watching the wood crackle and the flames fly up the chimney while Grandma, her bright eyes dancing with memories, told of the times of long ago.
When Grandma told a story she gave it secret sounds of beauty. Her long years of vital living added credence and authenticity to every word.
The story I liked best was one about the first Silver Christmas tree.
In the eighteen hundreds, Christmas trees were all green no one had invented the spray can of white snow or silver-tinted paint to ornament Christmas decorations. So, Grandma's first silver tree was one to remember.
In the late fall, Grandpa always made his last trip up the rugged,winding, rocky road into Manti Canyon to cut firewood to prepare for the
long winter months ahead.
On this last trip, he always brought a beautiful pine tree with lush green branches that served as a Christmas tree for the family. Strings of popcorn and cranberries were handsome decorations, all made by the children of that home.
Nine children helped prepare the tree, while Grandma played the organ
and Grandpa sang "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas."
Years come and go, and child
ren grow up and each in time leaves the home nest and seeks to find their own niche in life. The time came when not one was left in the big stone house
some had married and moved far away; some attending college too far away and too busy to get home for Christmas.
Still, Grandpa was making his trips to the canyon for the winter wood.
As he was about to leave early that brisk October morning, Grandma called,
"Papa, don't bother to bring a tree this year, not one of the children will
be home for Christmas; they are all too busy and some too far away."
Grandpa nodded his grey head in silence, picked up his lunch sack and was
gone.
Winds whipped the air and one could feel winter approaching. By midmorning
snow covered the valley and by late evening Grandpa had not returned
from the canyon.
Grandma milked the cows, fed the chickens and the lambs, gathered the
eggs, filled the woodbox, and kept the fire going in the old Stewart range.
The clock on the mantle above the sink struck eight, then nine, then ten.
A dozen times Grandma walked to the corral gate, listening for the heavy
sound of the horse's hoofs. Finally, at midnight there came a distant crunching of wheels on the icy snow. The neigh of old Nig was music to her ears.
They were home, and on top of all the logs, reaching far into the sky, was the most beautiful Christmas tree she had ever seen.
The next day Grandpa made a box for the trunk and together they moved it into the parlor. "Put this tree in the bay window, Papa, where Ethelinda
always wanted it." Then Grandma closed the parlor door.
October passed. A cold November slipped by, and in December a blanket
of snow almost buried the valley. Grandma and Grandpa kept close to the old Stewart range; the parlor door had never been opened since the day the tree with its green branches brushed the bay window.
But the parlor was not entirely empty. Who do you suppose found it delightful with no heat, no brooms, no dust mops, no heavy shoes treading on
the braided rug?
Well, the spiders: the big ones, the lean ones, the little ones, mama spiders, papa spiders and all their children, their cousins, and their aunts, descending like an army on the great green Christmas tree.
Up and down they climbed, over and under each Tittle branch, leaving a silver web wherever spider legs traveled.
Christmas Eve the tree was covered with strands and strands of tiny
silver threads. The last trace of green was gone. It was truly a Christmas
tree of silver; yes, a Silver Christmas Tree!
A December moon with its cold, icy glare, picked up shining sparkles
from the frozen snow, reflecting a glow upon the silver tree standing in the
bay window. It was a magnificent picture.
The carolers stopped and stared and stared and sang louder and longer.
The neighbors passed and one by one sent the word around until the whole town came to see a silver tree in the Jensen Bay window. Ohing and ahing; "What has made it thus?"
The townfolks never knew, but the cold winter moon spreading its rays,
and the army of spiders in their silent ways--they knew.
~~~~~~
Source: Information taken from memories of family evenings at the home
of Julius and Annie Jensen. Based on a true incident.
(Reva T. Jensen, born August 30, 1900.)
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