Today, my youngest son and his family went out to Wolcott, to his dad’s place to chop down a Christmas tree. They were also going to cut a little one for me. The two year old wanted his own tiny tree because he was tiny! I told him he could share mine but at that moment as they headed off, there were tears as he repeated, “I want my own tiny tree!’

My former hubby has 26 acres with loads of fir trees rimming a large open meadow. They are not pruned but we have all come to love the more lacey look with open branches that allow ornaments to hang down.

Leland, my former hubby and dear friend, took this photo of my son and his wife hauling their tree as well as a tiny one for me. The little ones stayed inside the house as it was cold out that day. I sent this photo to my sister. It brought up memories of our family, getting our Christmas tree. We cannot remember the names of the owner of the farm that we went to. My parents grew up in Western New York, in dairy farm country. This farm was not a relatives’ but a friend of one of their families.

We would go in the barn and feed the cows broken cookies that the farmer got for cheap from a cookie factory nearby. We all thought that this was amazing. What lucky cows to eat cookies every day! There were huge barrels of the cookie pieces and we all ate gleeful handfuls. A few pockets were stuffed for later eating. (I read this piece to my writing group, a couple who had been dairy farmers and they confirmed that they was a not uncommon practice. One had fed their cows barrels of broken chocolates!)

When we went inside the house, we were greeted with more cookies. The woman had made sugar cookies in the shape of flowers with holes in the center. She stacked them on dowels that were fitted into a wooden base. The cookies would get progressively smaller as they rose so that they formed a tree shape. She had a series of them on the window sill for decoration. We were allowed to take a cookie off of this tree to eat with our milk. It was a day of eating more cookies than we were ever allowed. We made it count!

The best part, was going to cut the tree. The farmer owned 400 acres (my younger sister remembered so many details) that had acres planted in pine trees by Boy Scout troops over the years. So there were plenty of trees to choose from.

There were different vehicles used over the years to go get the tree. Maybe it had to do with the depth of snow as it could be hip or waist high depending on how big you were. Some years, the farmer drove a big wood sided truck into which he put a 55 gallon drum filled with hot water to keep us warm. That seems like such an extravagance for him to do but he was a jolly guy with an aura of Santa around him, and he clearly liked kids.

Sometimes it was a hay wagon attached to a tractor that we rode out into the woods. Our dad would have the ax with him to cut the tree we chose. My mom usually stayed in the farmhouse with the wife.

The very best times, the farmer used an old car roof from the junk yard that was on the property. He turned it upside down and attached it with a rope to the tractor. He filled it with hay and we all clambered aboard. He drove the tractor to the top of a hill towing the car roof. He would then turn the tractor and the roof would go flying across the hillside. Over and over we flew. It was a crack the whip game as we sailed around the side of the hill. Over and over, he pulled us up to let us fly. How did he get down the hill with us behind him? The roof would have slid down to the side of the tractor? Not sure of the details yet sure of the feeling of exhilaration. We loved it. We would be thrown on top of one another, shrieking at the top of our lungs…..panic mixed with the thrill. Was our dad on the roof with us? He must have been. Perhaps holding one of the younger kids? Memories fade in and out with details fuzzy yet feelings clear.

There were so many hard things in our family. There was a silent darkness that permeated our house. It was not acknowledged nor named until we were adults in lives with our own kids. Children will trigger memories of when you were the various ages so as to expose and hopefully heal those traumas.

It is a joy to recall and share fun memories. Our parents did their best to offer us such times. I am so grateful for recall these memories with my sister. To know that life offers black and white, good and evil. Most of life is a mix. We can take the bitter blackness and transform it by spotlighting some of the shining moments of joy. Not to ignore the dark…….that we must face and feel fully. Only then can we let it go. The landscape then opens, allowing the sweeter memories to appear.

May we allow ourselves these moments of recalled joy. As we turn our focus there, we create more of it in our world. Truly, it is the time of joy to the world. Hallelujah!

A phone call as I am lying on the couch, reading a book. I had a sauna this morning and came home hungry and enervated.

My four and 3/4 s granddaughter was on the phone asking if I would like to go sledding with her. Her two year old brother did not want to go outside so daddy could not take her sledding.

I rallied and said, “Sure, I will get dressed and meet you in five minutes.”

I grabbed a handful of chocolate chips to fuel the hill climbs. Fortunately, the hill is right behind the house. It has a ridge route, easier to walk up as well as the top of the hill run that is very steep which then slopes into the yard.

I arrived at her door to tears. Her brother was playing happily with his trucks, my granddaughter was being encouraged to eat some food and drink some milk before we headed out. She is a wisp of a girl and seems to live mostly on air. She had a tiny snack and then we were off.

We had some very good runs in the sunshine. My back held through the couple of bumps that throw you up a bit. There was a wondrous phenomenon of the blue/violet spectrum of sunlight falling on the sun in a band that edged our sled’s tracks. It was sparkly and so soft with a tiny bit of aqua edging the sky blue which flowed into an edge of violet. The blue was the largest band and it was so beautiful. A blue pool in the snow. Magical!

After a few runs. the sun began its descent on the other side of the hill. We hurried back to ask her dad and brother to come out to view this special sight. We took another run while they were getting dressed. It was a fleeting event and there was only a hint of the color remaining when they arrived. I wish that I had been able to take a photo of it but the wonder of it will live with my granddaughter and me. She wants to try to replicate that time of day for sledding to see if it happens again. We shall see!

I was transported back to the stamina needed to be a parent of little ones. The two year old was howling, he did not want to be outside. He was divesting himself of his jacket and gloves as fast as he could.  He could not quite manage to undo the zipper at the very end but that did not stop him from pulling his arms out and running towards the comfort and warmth of the house. A river of tears and mucus was rolling down his face.

My granddaughter began to join in, crying that she wanted to come up to my house, she was not done with her time with me. Daddy assured her that her time was up and that they were going inside awaiting mommy’s arrival home. She continued her protests, out crying her brother. Daddy said, “How about an attitude of gratitude for the sledding time you just had with Nana?” He encouraged her to thank me.

Oh, she was not ready to do that! She said, “I have no confidence that I co can do that!”

She wanted only to live with me all the time. She did not want to wait until her special time with me tomorrow. On and on the protests went. I followed her into the house, murmuring to her. I helped get her out of her snow gear while daddy took charge of the little one. Again , she knew daddy wanted her to say thank you but she felt she couldn’t. I quietly said, “How about you whisper it to me?”

She came over and whispered, “Thank you, Nana. I love you. ” I whispered back that I loved her and would see her tomorrow.

I left my son with two tired children. I am grateful that he has that youthful stamina that can hold on through days like this. Where it takes all of you to endure. The other parent arriving home from work, an anticipated relief. There is nothing quite as challenging as toddlers and snow gear and late afternoons when emotions run ragged.

I was grateful to be able to head off to my writing group to share this bit of blue magic and a whispering child.