Blue Ridge Christmas Memories

I left my parents house for good in 1966, so in almost 50 years I’m sure there are many things I have forgotten. But when I think back on those Christmas’s at our family home just east of the Blue Ridge Parkway, the very first thought that comes to mind is just how awful our Christmas trees were.

We never bought a tree, Daddy always went to the woods and cut one. Daddy’s criteria for a good Christmas tree must have been this; It must be pine, or in that family, and it must have more than three branches. I can remember being with him as a small boy and thinking, (and perhaps even saying), that tree has too many gaps where there is no limbs!

The fact was that we were somehow predestined to have a much less than perfectly shaped tree, but the tree itself was only the beginning. As far back as I can remember we had the same lights, with the same metal reflectors.

The bulbs went through the reflectors and were held in place when the  bulb was completely screwed into place. The ones above look exactly like the ones we had.

After about the first 5 to 7 years the paint started to wear off the bulbs so many of them were just clear bulbs with a bit of obstruction from bits of paint that had not worn off yet. Then there was the silver strand of garland, and the red.

We never had more that I remember, just one silver and one red. You can imagine after seeing this picture what this garland would look like after several years of use being crammed into a box and dragged out over and over for years. They were pretty ratty looking!

We also had the same ice cicles which were strips of thin aluminum foil I think. They looked like this. They too started to look pretty bad after several years of use. 

I don’t remember Daddy ever buying more decorations for our tree. Why should he when we already had perfectly good stuff? We also had a few colored balls to hang and some years we strung popcorn on sewing thread and put it on as well. We had a large star for the top, made of tin, with a bulb in the center. Every year our Christmas tree was…., well…, it was “there”.

Now to clear my dad’s good name, I am not much better at choosing native trees and decorations than he was. If not for the female species, nothing in my life would be pretty. As a teenager I too harvested some monstrosities for yule trees.

Those trees were ugly, but they were ours, in our living room, and we were very happy, and I was content. I knew my parents loved me and that was enough to make Christmas beautiful.

My Daddy’s “stuffing” is a very fond memory. He always helped Momma in the kitchen, especially if we were having company or a special meal. He could make the very best dressing I have ever tasted to this day. Momma’s signature squash pies were a staple too. ‘Nothing like them this side of heaven! We listened to Christmas music on the Admiral radio at  night and had pop corn. Later, after we got a TV, we enjoyed the varaity shows and stayed up late on weekend nights, sometimes ’til 10 o’clock.

I remember hearing Santa, ( I had known the truth for a few years I think but had not told anyone thinking that if I did the toys would stop coming), on Christmas eve and even though I had some way found out, I could hardly wait until morning to see the hand-me-down bike Santa had left. It was my cousin’s bike, he has out grown it, so Daddy painted it and gave it to me, and I loved that bike!

My parents did the best they could with what they had. Nobody had informed us just how poor we were so we were content and felt blessed.

As I write this post my house has so many sparkling lights on it that when I fire them all up the city of Monroe dims a bit! A 7 1/2 foot lighted tree sits by the fireplace and it is decorated to a tee. Carol has a nack for making things look just right. We are blessed people and Christmas is still fun, blessed, and I look forward to complaining again next year when Carol tells me it’s time to get the stuff out of the attic again.

If I could do it all again I don’t think I would change a thing about my childhood. My parents were good “salt of the earth” kind of people who loved big though they had little their whole lives.

These are precious memories.

Merry Christmas,
Royce