All Things St. Jacques, NL

December social media posts are decorated with images of Christmas Trees. There’s no contest for best tree, best decorated tree, most innovative tree or silliest tree, yet their proliferation suggests otherwise. There was a time, and may still be in some homes, when neighbours and friends were invited to ‘drop over to see our tree.’ That invitation wasn’t an offer to come, stand and gawk at the evergreen standing in the corner of the living room, but to come socialize, to enjoy each other’s company during the Season.  That seems to have changed a bit with the arrival of Facebook, Instagram and the like. Now, it seems it is about ‘seeing the tree.’

Don’t get me wrong. Seeing the tree is always a visual delight. It is astounding how a simple, often gangly, otherwise mundane object is transformed by human hands into such a beauteous installation in the midst of someone’s home — to stands in stark contrast to everyday life.  In my memory, it has always been so, whether the tree came from the nearby forest or out of a box. I don’t recall ever seeing two decorated trees looking alike for most of my lifetime. I have seen them in recent years, as promoters and designers vie to create attention with their suggestion of, ‘how to decorate your tree.’

There are ribbon trees, upside-down trees, white trees, themed trees, huge bows, burlap, fibre-optic, and single-colour decorated trees.  You’ve seen them too. There have been years when there seems to be an attempt to decorate a tree to look like everyone else’s.  Go figure. I am not suggesting that when the invitation to drop by to see the tree was accepted that there weren’t subjective and aesthetic judgements made about how well or how badly the neighbours tree was decorated, for there certainly were.  I’ve seen Christmas trees that were more oval than triangular, their branches extending well into the room, squeezing you back to the doorway. Others were skinny and sparse, prompting me to wonder what the person was thinking when that tree was chosen among a forest full of choices. I must confess I’ve had to turn one side of a tree to the wall to hide its sparse branches or disguise the thin spots with artificial greenery, a time or two, myself.

The perfect Christmas tree is not what someone tells us it should be. It’s not a formula to follow or a kit to assemble with directions that lose meaning in translation. If not, what is it? I believe it’s the tree that tells a story of the family or person who decorates it. It’s the tree that bends its branches under the weight of souvenirs of vacations, family visits, favourite places, people remembered, and commemorations. That Christmas tree also proudly displays handmade baubles and bows from children’s creative hands; boldly shows off items from Christmases past, from trees of childhood or those of family members whose hands no longer decorate. Such a tree stands tall in my eyes with its worn top that’s withered over time and offers its welcoming branches as a place to share precious memories.

Resting on its sweetly scented needles or hanging below their canopy are miniature, framed photographs of special people, lovingly painted odd coloured walnut husks, crocheted stars and balls starched to perfection, and bells from the collars of family pets. In between them hang twirling ballerinas, team emblazoned hockey sticks, hand-written scrolls, fifteen-year-old letters to Santa, colourful plastic childhood cartoon characters and special, never-to-be-forgotten cards. And, if you like, toss a few strands of tinsel here and there in remembrance of aunts and grandmothers whose love of that shiny, stringy material still haunts your memory.

That’s the story of Christmas told in the charms and treasures of those who are in it, a stage to gaze upon when the lights are dim, think about in quiet moments, and shed a joyful tear at having been part of that incredible plot.