Our South Christmas 2019

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MEMORIES
The Ugliest Tree
The Ugliest
Tree in Town
By Averyll Kessler
I recognized it immediately,
a small scrap of a tree,
minus a few branches, a host
of needles and leaning left as
if it had grown sideways on a
steep, mud-caked hill. When I
came home from school, it was
standing in our den, a bleak,
second tier companion to the
Averyll Kessler
fragrant Avery Garden’s cedar
in our living room. But that
would change. My mother bought it, as she always did,
from the few remaining Christmas trees available at the
Belhaven Jitney. She did it every year. I suppose the
conversation went something like this:
“Are you sure you want this tree, Lady?”
the clerk asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s kinda skimpy. We got better ones in back.”
“No,” Mama replied. “I want this one.
It wants me too.”
“Load it into your car?” he asked, quite
sure he was staring at a loony bird.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
My mother was a Christmas person. The moment
the turkey bones were tossed into a bubbling soup pot
and our sumptuous pan of cornbread dressing had been
scraped dry, she began. It was as if an internal Santa-like
voice shouted in her ear. “One for the money, two for the
show, three to get ready, now go, Paula, go!” In an instant,
she became a scampering elf, a flying reindeer, and
a woman who could put Mrs. Santa Claus to shame.
Our annual ugly tree was an important part of
Mama’s Christmas tradition. She spent hours decking
it with ropes of silver garland, sparking bubble lights,
shiny glass balls, and a flock of red cardinal ornaments,
until it glowed like a fairy princess. After a few days, a
dose of water in the tree stand made our crippled tree
stand upright again, and no one noticed that a few critical
branches were missing. As Christmas approached, it
was just as merry as the fat cedar in the living room.
During her last years, the ugly tree tradition continued,
even after she moved into to my home in Fondren.
One day, during our morning walk, we found a graceful
branch lying by the curb on Oakridge Drive. “That’s it,”
Mama said, pointing to a castoff limb waiting for garbage
pickup. We took it home, set it in a tree stand, and
welcomed a stark, leafless tree left for dead. When we’d
covered it with white lights, red balls and her traditional
flock of cardinals, it became a beautiful and artistic addition
to our decorations.
“How unusual,” my friends mumbled, as they
inspected our lovely branch. “I thought it might be a
sculpture.” Mama smiled, because she’d done it again.
My mother’s ugly tree taught me a significant
lesson. Every year, I watched as she searched for an
unwanted, bedraggled tree, brought it home and treated
it with all the love in the world. Suddenly, a transformation.
Our tree wasn’t ugly at all. Loving the unlovable
can produce unexpected results.
Perhaps the best Christmas gifts are not tangible,
but things we experience. Perhaps they are lessons of
love that soak into our hearts and remain there, strong
aromas of the past that linger in our memories, like
fresh cut cedar and gingerbread. They are an echo of
long-ago laughter, and absent voices ringing like harness
bells. New voices too; the giggles of a two-yearold
or a fifth-grade choir singing Away in the Manger.
The best gifts wrap us in warm coats of joy, keeping us
snug all year long. Perhaps, they even give an unwanted
tree a second chance.
Sigrid Undset, a Norwegian novelist, wrote the following
about the best gifts. It’s one of my favorites.
“And when we give each other Christmas gifts in
His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun
and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests
and mountains and oceans – and all that lives and
moves upon them. He has given us all green things and
everything that blossoms and bears fruit – and all that
we quarrel about and all that we have misused – and to
save us from our own foolishness, from all our sins, He
came down to earth and gave us Himself.” … OS
Stella Shoemake,
daughter of Morgan
& Roman Shoemake,
from Christmas 2013
36 … OUR SOUTH
ALL THINGS SOUTHERN … 37