Henry was barely a tree when some stupid kid snapped his top off and tossed it onto the grassy knoll that served as an entrance to the tree farm. The lot was almost a forest. He watched as each Christmas traveler crushed his broken leader into the mud. It never really grew back. As the years passed, Henry became a strong and sturdy tree. He carried himself to the standard of any Christmas tree farm. For all his vigor and stature, year after year, come the day after Christmas and he stood alone. Sitting on the edge of the lot did him no good, without fail come the yuletide season and he found himself unwanted. Passersby would comment on his beauty then walk away and desert him once again. Henry started to believe that he would never be a real Christmas tree.
Despite the constant rejection, Henry managed a purpose
through the rest of the year. Birds would nest in his branches and small
animals would seek shelter underneath his heavy lower boughs. Every summer,
spiders would set up their traps and creepy crawling things would seek his richness
to avoid the rain. Come the snow and the wind, Henry was a warmer place. The denseness of his needles and the
fullness of his form offered protection from a cold winter’s night. Day after
day, he sat waiting for his top to grow back but it never did but he sure did. It was a curse
he supposed, a Christmas tree with no support for a star or an angel. One year,
a male chipmunk named Dave set up shop in his branches. For awhile, he was his
closest friend. Eventually, Dave found love and moved away. Like life without a
steeple, his friend was gone and Henry faced another Christmas season. He
didn’t hold out hope. He didn’t even wish. Henry sat on the corner spot and he
surrendered. He would no longer dream of Christmas morning. He no longer
believed that his lot in this life would change.
Even in a torrent, hope always
floats.
The little boy looked at Henry with a smile. He was
everything the boy had dreamed of in a tree. His father was well pleased,
considering he would not have to trudge through the tree farm if they settled
on Henry. The tree could hardly believe it when the man picked up his saw and
teased. The boy, and the dog that came with him, danced around Henry with a
certain kind of joy only children and animals seem to possess. With the father came
the mother. She stood, arms crossed, in her mind placing Henry in her front
window for all the world to see. “There’s something wrong,” she said with a
frown. “There is no top of the tree.” Henry was defeated as they walked away,
the child crying from want. It wasn’t long before the boy discovered another
option, one that was everything the boy had dreamed of in a tree. This tree had
a crown on the top.
Over the years, Henry grew and he grew. He was a stunning
testament to nature regardless of any missing top. Every day, Henry sat
watching the world go by and he did not dream. There was little purpose in
hoping when there was no hope. He watched the pruners come and go. He watched
the snow come in December and the snow melt come April. He spent his summers
giving shade and his autumns blocking the wind. Despite his disability, Henry got
bigger every year. Eventually, he realized he would soon be one of those
abandoned trees that become far too big for Christmas. Come early November and
the farmer who owns the property pulled up onto that grassy knoll and he and
his wife got out of the truck. He then grabbed some sort of sign from the cab
and reached down, finally pulling out a hammer. The man walked directly over to
Henry, touched the post to the ground and with a few short bursts, drove it
home. “Not for sale” was Henry’s epitaph. When the wife questioned the sign,
all the farmer had to say was, “It’s too big.”
When the farmer told his wife Henry was no longer for sale, the
tree understood the sign and what it meant. Henry was just too big to be
anything but an outside tree. All the years of not wishing and not hoping and not
dreaming seemed met. Henry was lost a little, at least the little that a tree
could muster. He was defeated and as sad as a blue spruce could ever be. His
animal friends didn’t help at all, as they ran back to their family and the
life they got to lead. He was angry, angry at the young boy who broke off the
top of the tree. He was angry at all the people who had disregarded him simply
for lack of a steeple. All that waited for him now was removal and the
inevitable refuge pile on the other side of the farm. Henry shivered, not so
much from the cold but at the very idea that his purpose was over and he never
got to be a Christmas tree.
The ladder truck was used primarily for pruning larger
trees. On occasion, it would serve a more primal cause. The truck parked to the
back of Henry and raised its cab to his top. Slowly, up and down, men draped Henry with strands and
strings and dangly things. Several people handed the workmen large balls and
shiny bits of light. Soon Henry was covered, from his base to the top of the
tree. The very last thing one of the decorators did was take the cab back to the
top and secure something Henry could not see. Someone then brought out a cord of
sorts, it ran from the attendance gate just a few meters away. Henry was
confused by all the ruckus. He had never seen anyone on the farm do this sort
of thing to any other tree. Suddenly, as the sun hit the late afternoon sky,
everyone left Henry. The trucks pulled away, the farmer disappeared and the
tree farm closed up for another day. Henry sat alone again, unsure of what had
happened, unsure he would be okay. Suddenly, the lights came on.
Every Christmas since then, Henry has illuminated the
entrance of his tree farm. He didn’t get to be a Christmas tree for just one
Christmas, he got to be a Christmas tree every year. Henry grew comfortable
with his beauty and continued to share his safety throughout the other seasons.
He was regal, humble and majestic in his own way. The first Christmas they lit
him up, his old friend Dave dropped in for some yuletide cheer. Henry spotted
his approach, glad to see his buddy. Dave couldn’t believe his eyes. So many colors,
so many lights. Henry was a Christmas tree. Dave looked up, way up and he saw
it. “Henry,” he said with a smile, “you’ve got a star on top.”
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