After inadvertently stealing our friends' Christmas tree the previous year, Joe and I decided it might be wise to take a drive and spot a different place to cut a suitable evergreen. (We had lots of cedar and juniper, but the only evergreens on the farm would be the young ones we planted ourselves.) We drove about twenty minutes or so before spotting a promising looking woods dotted with potential Christmas trees. As pre-arranged, Joe stayed in the car at the side of the road and I dashed into the woods with my trusty saw.
Have you ever gone to a 'cut your own' tree farm? If you have, you know how difficult it can be to choose just the right one. You wander here, you wander there. You check them out from all sides. However, I was well aware that Joe was waiting impatiently for me, so I made a choice fairly quickly - a splendid six foot bit of perfection. It was soon cut down and I began carrying it awkwardly out. Hmmmmm...... it was further than I thought! My arms grew tired and I resorted to dragging it. Until I realized. I had NO CLUE which way the road was. I was lost in the damn woods with a damn Christmas tree and a damn saw and a damned partner sitting on his butt in our nice warm car. What was wrong with this picture?
Yelling for help would be pointless. Not to mention embarrassing as hell. Joe would never hear me in the car anyway. What I had heard though, was the steady dull hum of traffic. Certainly it was not coming
from the quiet country road we'd parked on. It had to be from the big 401 highway. I'd not realized we were so close. If I just walked straight to that sound, I'd come out by the highway, much as we'd walk towards the setting sun years later when we got lost together.
I left the tree with no regrets. It was the cause of all my troubles after all. (You didn't expect me to blame myself, did you?) I tramped along as fast as I could, and in fair time, could see the highway. I stumbled my way over a wire fence, falling into the snow on the other side. Which did nothing for my rapidly worsening mood, I can tell you!
I could hardly go walking down the side of the 401 carrying a tree saw. I was wearing a three quarter length coat, and was just able to tuck the saw up under it and hold it in place squeezed into my armpit. It's illegal to hitchhike on the 401. I just ambled along as nonchalantly as I could, trying to look like I always went for a stroll along a busy highway in foot deep snow.
Fortunately, it was not long before I came to our turnoff. Then I started running because I could not imagine what Joe would be thinking - he'd be worried sick! I knew exactly where I was, and as soon as I hit the first little sideroad, I could see our car in the distance parked right where I'd left it. Huffing and puffing, cold and wet, my mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse for what had happened. Anything but the truth.
Finally I reached the car. I couldn't believe it. Far from being worried out of his mind, my dear Joe was FAST ASLEEP! First I felt rage. Pure, evil, twisted rage that he'd slept through my miserable ordeal.
But! Then I realized - he need never know!
I opened the door and got in. Of course Joe tried to act like he hadn't been asleep. "Did you get a good one?"
"No. There's not a single decent tree in there. Let's just go back to where we got last year's."
And that is what we did. Joe did not say a word about how long I'd been gone (or how long he'd been sleeping). Until that night.......
We were lying in bed when he said, "Are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"What the hell happened in the woods today."
"You mean, while you were having a nice snooze?"
In the end, the whole silly story came out. We laughed and we laughed. From the comfort of a warm bed looking back in time, it was the most ridiculous situation. Me, wandering lost in the woods dragging a Christmas tree. Joe sound asleep in the car! As I was drifting off to sleep though, a thought came to me. "It's a damn good thing you were too cheap to keep the motor running. You could have asphyxiated yourself."
"My gawd," Joe murmered. "You're right. That could have been a real disaster."
"Exactly," I replied. "I would have had to walk home."
It turned out Joe wasn't so sleepy he couldn't wallop me upside the head.
Christmas on the farm was always eventful, one way or another. Most years, Mary, Molly and little Sarah would come for a few days, including 'the big one'. Nearer the end of December, a varying mix of brothers, sisters and friends would appear for some winter fun. The tradition began in our second winter because by then, we had two airtight, high-efficiency box woodstoves which heated the house very nicely and allowed us to use the upstairs bedrooms. We also had indoor plumbing, the most amazing of luxuries.
A Christmas Joe's mother Mary would never forget was the one when she, Molly and Sarah decided to come down a day earlier than planned, without telling us. As it happened, we'd had a major snowstorm. The laneway was impassable but there was talk of even more snow so we'd decided to put off blowing it out until the actual day they were coming. Imagine how they felt when they arrived. The road crew had ploughed down to our entrance as always, they were very good, and they always ploughed a 'turn around' also, since we were at the end of the road. But that left Molly staring at our snow clogged laneway!
They agreed there was nothing for it but to turn around and appeal for help from our nearest neighbor, who's house sat up at the juncture of the dirt sideroad and main gravel road. As it turned out, the Mr. and Mrs. were not at home. However, several of their children were. Instead of just telephoning us, two of the older teenaged boys offered to drive them in - on snowmobiles!
Picture Mary...... closer than she wanted to be to two hundred pounds, and looking in the rearview mirror at sixty. A woman who'd never worn trousers in her life. She was wearing a dress, coat, nylons and ankle boots. But gamely, she managed to clamber onto the back of one of the skidoos and put her arms around her enthusiastic driver. Molly, with Sarah snuggled against her belly, got on the back of the other one.
In Mary's mind, that was the day hell froze over. She was heavy, the snow was deep and fluffy. Her legs were soon snow covered, and frozen. Her young driver couldn't resist gunning the engine here and there, one minute throttling down the lane, the next, slowing to a crawl. In her spraddle-legged position, Mary's hips began to hurt. Her face turned to ice. And she was terrified they'd both be pitched off and run over by the second snowmobile.
For Molly and Sarah, it was a wonderful treat, a great adventure! She later told us it had been sheer bliss skidooing down that snowy lane, on that cold, crisp afternoon.
We happened to be in the barn when we heard the roar of snowmobiles and realized they were coming up our lane. You cannot begin to imagine our astonishment when we figured out who that snow covered back passenger was. Mary! She looked ready to die. She looked like she wanted to. We rushed over to help her off, a very tricky task as she was so seized up. Finally we had her standing, and with one of us supporting her on each side, she managed to hobble stiff-legged to the house. Dawg leapt about and barked his excited greetings but I'm afraid he was ignored.
Mary headed for a flat bed-like couch we had in one corner of the living room and collapsed onto it with a sigh of relief, boots and all. Molly and Sarah followed us in, poor Molly feeling all guilty about her mother. She set about pulling Mary's coat and boots off and rubbing her legs, while I added wood to the fires and put the kettle on. Joe headed back out to start blowing the laneway so we could bring Molly's car in which held all their Christmas presents. The two boys were gone, we'd have to thank them later. It was a pretty safe bet that Mary never would!
Another Christmas that will stay forever fresh in my memory was the year Molly gave Joe a beautiful, multi-colored afghan of many little squares joined together that she'd lovingly crocheted herself, a skill her mother had taught her when she was still a small child. It was a gift of many, many hours of patient, detailed work. When Joe pulled it out, we were both struck by its glorious kaleidoscope of glowing colors, it's immediate suggestion of comfort and warmth. I was though, quite frankly, just a wee bit hurt that she'd given it only to Joe, rather than to both of us. I was also more than a little annoyed with myself for being so childish. But Molly had been my friend and ally almost from the very beginning of my relationship with Joe. She encouraged it, and aided me every way she could in making him see how much he needed me. I thought the world of her, and it was just a little disappointing to not be a part of such a special present.
Then Molly pulled another box out and handed it to me. It was big. Like Joe's. I looked at it in disbelief. I held my breathe as I opened it and then I had to keep my head down. I had to blink and blink, and clear my throat, and I couldn't say a word. It was an exact match to Joe's except the colors were arranged differently. This was much more than just the gift of an afghan, and I knew it. Finally I had to look up at Molly and say thank you, and yes, there were tears in my eyes. It's one thing to be accepted. It is something entirely different to be loved.
We had been hearing for some time from my two sisters about the very beautiful girl my younger brother was dating. Jason was university educated, played multiple musical instruments and was very good looking, so it was not especially surprising that he would have a beautiful girlfriend. What was surprising was how totally enthralled my sisters were by her, claiming she was that rarest of beauties - having an even more beautiful personality. I found that hard to believe. Most of the 'beauties' I'd known, male or female, were far too narcissistic to be considered as anything more than decorative.
When Jason brought her to the farm shortly after Christmas, to say we were curious would be quite the understatement. As it turned out, she was indeed lovely. Her beauty required no artifice whatsoever. She was as natural and glowing as a summer dawn, and with an open, wide smile reflected in her kind blue eyes, she was completely unaffected. She turned out to be very special indeed. Her name was Jessica.
There was the usual hustle and bustle inside as coats and boots came off, everyone chattering away, and Jessica exclaiming with delight at all she saw. Dawg as usual, went around bumping hands, determined to be included and patted. I guess he wasn't totally satisfied with the results. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed him over at the boot tray. He raised his hind leg and let go a stream directly into Jessica's boot. I could not believe my eyes. We'd never had to housetrain him, he'd never done such a thing before.
"DAWG!" I roared. He looked at me guiltily but didn't stop! Everyone was looking now. And laughing. Finally done, Dawg wandered over to Jessica, wagging his tail. Joe and I started apologizing profusely but she just laughed, squatted down and hugged Dawg.
"He's just staking a claim!" she said with glee. "You all better be on your best behavior now, I think I have a personal guardian!"
And so, Jessica was welcomed to the farm in unique fashion. She loved it, probably more than Jason. They came every year after that, sometimes in summer, sometimes in winter. One winter they brought extra cross-country skiis for us and we all skied for hours. And later, Joe and I did our very best to hide how truly sore our legs were! My favorite memory though, is all of us taking a walk in the woods one crisp winter day. The little creek had frozen over in many places, in a most unusual way. It was thick enough to walk on but as clear as glass. We were all enchanted, walking on that magical surface, as close to walking on water as one could ever hope to get. Beneath the ice, the water flowed, bits of greenery danced and swayed, pebbles gleamed their rich water enhanced hues as we went on, our voices hushed, in awe of this beautiful gift from Mother Earth.
In time came the happy announcement of their summer wedding. Joe and I could not both be away at the same time so he insisted I go, forcefully. (If you're wondering which of us was 'the boss', the answer is 'neither' and 'either' - it depended on who was yelling loudest at any particular moment.) He said it wouldn't be fair if one of the six siblings wasn't there. So go I did. He dropped me off at the bus station in town and, at the last minute, thrust five twenty dollar bills into my hand. I'd taken only enough for bus fare. "Here, take this," he said, "I want you to enjoy yourself, have a great time!" (That was a lot of money, considering we never spent a cent on anything the least bit frivolous.)
"And you take it easy!" I told him. "Just relax for a change. Don't do anything major until I get home."
The wedding was beautiful, casual but elegant. However, being in a big city again was overwhelming. The noise, the traffic, the constant hustle, the crowds! I was one happy guy to see Joe's smiling face as I got off the bus on my return. I'd spent almost every minute wishing he was with me and now, here he was, and we were both lost for words.
As we drove home, I filled our shy silence with stories about the wedding, and gave him everyone's greetings and regrets that he couldn't be there. In the house, I pulled out the five twenties. I hadn't spent a cent. I expected him to give me hell, but I knew he'd be secretly pleased, too. We were still counting every penny. He just smiled and said, "There's no telling you anything, is there?"
Something caught my eye on the dining room table. I went for a closer look. Eight pint jars of something red......
I picked one up. The label read, in Joe's careful printing: Bill's Wild Strawberry Jam.
Wild strawberries! Do you know how tiny they are? I love their sweet, luscious taste, their timeless, but delicate form belying their strength to survive against the odds of being crushed, or smothered by their larger, more dominant neighbors. I could never pass them by on our travels about the farm, without stopping to pick a few, but never more than a small handful.
Joe must have spent hours crawling around on his hands and knees to pick enough to make this jam. And then, cleaning them! Think of picking off all those tiny stems and leaves, one by one.
Molly's love was a rainbow of colors carefully pieced together. For Jason and Jessica, love was two gleaming gold bands.
If you were to ask me what our love is like, I would tell you this......
Is is like wild strawberries.
