O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, How lovely are your branches
Every year, when it’s time to get a Christmas tree, my childhood memories re-surface and I’m knee-deep in evergreen branches again.
As a child, getting the Christmas tree was one of the greatest events of the year. My father would take the afternoon off (an occurrence which, in itself, was noteworthy) and put on his recycled Army clothes which were his work clothes. With his pipe shifted to the left side of his mouth, he’d load me up in our winged blue Chevrolet, vintage 1960s, and we’d find a tree.