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When I was a young girl, my sister Gladys and I would pick a
day and look for our tree.
We went down on the farm and cut our own.
We would get all bundled up in our woolies, gloves, and hats
and off we would go, walking forever, looking for just the
right one.
The trees were Cedar, all growing here and there in clumps,
in all shapes and sizes. We would look and look and then
change our minds and move on to the next one.
We did not cut anything until we were sure it was the right
one.
Sometimes we were lucky enough to find some holly with red
berries and maybe some mistletoe too.
We were getting a bit tired when we saw the mistletoe . it
was just over our heads on a pretty good oak tree limb. My
sister spotted it too, and off she ran and climbed up onto
the tree to reach it. As she leaned out to get the
mistletoe, she lost her grip and fell to the ground, landing
on her back.
I ran over to her and she sat up and let out a yell because
she had knocked the breath from her when she fell.
I decided we would skip the mistletoe this year. I was going
to have a bit of explaining to do about the bruise that was
turning colors on her eye.
We spotted the tree that we wanted and I began to chop it
down. It took both of us to carry it.
We loved the wonderful smell of the Cedar and holly and red
berries that we had gathered along the way. I knew we were
lucky on this day. As we started for home, I was looking
forward to my mother's hot chocolate, made from scratch.
Dad would saw and shape a board to put on the bottom of the
tree to make it stand nice
and tall. We would all decorate it together, with the
strings of popcorn and paper chains we had made. Next came
the ornaments that mother unwrapped from the newspaper she
had placed around them year after year.
The last to go on was a star that had been cut from a piece
of cardboard and covered in tin foil. We had no string of
lights to make things twinkle or shine way back then, but we
were all so happy and carefree in that cozy farm house a
long time ago.
?© 12-2-03
Anne Glover
Here is also my poem.... The tree
This is the day we plan to pick out our tree.
We walk and walk and look and see,
Looking for that perfect tree.
That one is too fat,
that one is way too tall ,
And oh my
that one is just too small.
We've looked them all over
And there is no more to see.
Alas, look over there.
It was just waiting to be picked
For
our perfect tree.
?© 2003
Anne Glover
luci@dixie-net.com
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I live
in a small town near Tupelo ,Ms. I am 64 years old. I was
raised on a small farm near Memphis, Tenn. and I chased my
husband for 25 years all over the world as he was a military
man. We have been married for 45 years. We had a daughter in
Okla. and our son was born in Tenn. Our youngest daughter
was born in Fort Ord, Calif. We have 5 grand's and now 5
great grand's.
I write
poems and have lots of journals of my life and times of
growing up on a small farm and moving to lots of cities.
I have
had a Dystonia disease for the last 7 years called
"Spasmodic Tortocollis. my head is turned to the left. I
love crafts and walking.
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May you be blessed today.
Bob Johnston
Editor / Publisher
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