A Christmas Tradition

My name is Thelma Lou and I have a story to tell you about a long time Christmas family tradition. My daughter Gertie sat curled up on her grandpa’s lap in da old rockin’ chair by the wood stove. Da red line on the thermometer dipped well below zero as da wind howled through the pines. We all love this time of year when we visit my folks during Gertie’s winter break from school.

            I came from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Gertie poked at da mini marshmallows bobbing on top. Then she licked the chocolate off her fin-gertips and grinned all Chesire cat like. I settled down on da sofa with my mother’s afghan pulled over my legs and I cracked open my mystery novel.

            “Tell me a story, Grandpa!” Gertie begged. I knew from da twinkle in Pa’s eye and his sly grin toward me that she was about to hear a whopper.

            “Did I ever tell you about the Christmas tradition your Grandma and I started before your mother was born?”

            Gertie shook her head. Even if she had heard da story before, it always grew bigger with each telling.

            Grandpa began. “I bet you didn’t know your Grand-ma and I made some of da best moonshine around.”

            “What is moonshine, Grandpa?”

            I look over my book at my Pa.

            “Oh, it’s something people used to drink in the old days, before there were revenuers up north. They celebrated a lot when they drank it.”

            “Like when we drank raspberry Kool-Aid at my birthday party.”

            “That’s right sweetie, whenever there was moonshine around you could be sure there was going to be a party.” Pa winked at me and continued with his story before I could interrupt it.

            “Every year a few weeks after Thanksgiving, we’d head out into da woods with our best bottle and your Grandma’s Remington shot gun to pick out a tree. It all started when I lost my best chainsaw in a poker game.” Grandpa whispered, “But dat’s another story, and I’d just as soon not bring it up while your Grandma’s within earshot! Now where was I? Oh yeah, how da tradition of shooting da tree got started.”

            “The only thing we had to use to cut down our Christmas tree dat year was your Grandma’s Remington. So we stuck it on the gun rack in our trusty old Ford and we headed out in to da woods to hunt down the perfect spruce.”

            “Before too long we ran into old Gussy. He was a Conservation officer who had to follow every rule in the books. Yer Grandma was worried that he’d write us up for doing something wrong, especially after that incident with the ten pointer in July the year before. So she hid da gun under the seat and commenced to smoochin’ on me like we were out on our first date.”

            “Gussy pulled up next to us and asked us what we were up to. Yer Grandma told him dat she was overcome with passion for me, ever since I helped her trim her bunions dat week. He seemed satisfied with her answer and drove off to leave us to our business.”

            “As soon as we saw his truck disappear, we pulled out da shot gun and the jug of moonshine and we made for the woods.”

            “Before we could make it 15 feet, we heard a loud horn toot behind us. Wouldn’t you know it, our neighbors from down the street, the Bulenskis, had decided to go for a little drive in da forest dat day. They asked us what we were doin.’ We figured they could keep a secret, so yer Grandma told them how we planned to get our tree dat year.”

            “They thought that was a grand idea. Billy ran back home to get his rifle and when he got back, he and Hildie joined us on our adventure.”

            “Of course da news spread like wild fire and da tradition was born. Da ‘Shooting of the Tree’ became a yearly community event. We all took turns being on da lookout for Gussy. We always managed to stay one step ahead of him. But then a new problem arrived on the scene.”

            “What grandpa?”

            “Do you remember hearin’ stories about my Aunt Eartha? She was one of da biggest tree huggin’ creatures you’d ever seen. She tried to hold a rally to get us to stop da tradition, but we still did it anyway. So Eartha changed her tactics and decided to team up with Gussy to catch us in da act.”

            “Yer Grandma and I thought we’d have a little fun with my aunt. Even though she couldn’t kill a tree to cele-brate Christmas, she sure wasn’t afraid to shoot any bunnies for her famous rabbit stew.”

            “What did you do, Grandpa?”

            “Aunt Eartha used to complain all da time about how hard it was to get a good bead on the little buggers in da winter time since they blended in with da snow so well, and her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.”

            “So we followed her out to one of her favorite huntin’ spots and hid behind some big beech trees. After she moved on, we sneaked out and put a pile of carrots at da base of a clump of spruces.”

            “Sure enough, after a few days those rabbits were coming back all da time to look for more grub. We waited for Eartha to show back up.”

            “There she was with the biggest smile on her face. She lifted her shot gun and Bam! She shot at da rabbit. Well, dat bunny got away, but Eartha had shot a hole clean through da trunk of one of da spruce trees! The tree teetered, then it fell to da ground.”

            “Oh, no,” said Gertie. She covered her mouth and looked very surprised.

            Papa continued. “She took a look around to see if anyone had seen her dreadful deed. Then she slung da trunk of dat spruce tree over her shoulder and dragged it out of da woods. We were flipping blown over. She threw da tree in-to the bed of her pickup and she drove home.”

            “We followed her to her home and peeked in her window. We watched her decorate dat dang thing! Every now and then she’d stop and stare up at da tree and grin. She’d give it a hug and sniff its branches. Aunt Eartha seemed to be sucking in da aroma of dat tree and holding it in her nostrils as long as she could.”

            “Did she know you were watching her?”

            “No. Yer Grandma couldn’t take it anymore. She was laughing so hard at da sight, she was sure Eartha would hear us. So yer Grandma marched over to da front door and banged real hard on it. I kept watching Aunt Eartha through da window. She looked around in a panic. Then she de-cided she better answer the knocking since it kept getting louder.”

            “Eartha stammered. Words were refusing to come out of her mouth right. I thought this was a good time to join da party so I stormed into da house with my hands on my hips.”

            “I was just about to open my mouth and blackmail my aunt so dat she wouldn’t hassle us anymore about our activities when she spoke up, ‘You know, this isn’t such a bad way to celebrate da season. I think I’d like to participate in this tradition next year.’”

            He paused to take a sip of his coffee. He grinned at Gertie. She smiled back and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

            “And that’s just what she did. She even started da event with a bugle call every year! Until she headed for the happy rabbit hunting grounds in da sky.”

            “That’s amazing, Grandpa. Do you have a picture of Aunt Eartha?”

            “Yes, I do. I will show ya after I drink my hot cho-colate.”

            “Did dat really happen, Papa?”

            “Of course it did. I’m surprised yer Ma didn’t tell you dat she and your Pa have carried on da family tradition for years now.” My Pa winked my way again as Gertie climbed down off his lap and scrambled over towards me on da couch to sit next to her ma.

            “Is it true Ma?” Without waiting for an answer she added, “And how come we don’t get to go with you and drink moonshine and help shoot down da tree?”

            Papa got up and patted me on da shoulder, “I think I hear Grandma calling me in da kitchen.”  He shuffled off with a twinkle in his eye.