(Luther and Bruno help Henry clean the family room)
Lisa called in the morning to see if Henry and I wanted to go to “The River’s Edge U-Cut Tree Farm". The whole Donaldson family, including Annie, was making an outing of it. They were even going to get a wreath - the works. I thought about it, but we’re having "The Walton Family Christmas" this season and we're doing everything homespun. We don't have much money this year and we're relying on "it's the thought that counts." We’re making our presents or just writing letters. So I declined in favor of finding a tree on our property. After all, Christmas trees of Douglas Fir, Noble Fir and the like are shipped from the Pacific Northwest to Christmas tree lots all over the country.
Before we would bring one more thing into the house, however, I declared a Big Tidy Up. So Henry and I cleaned the house. Well, when I say cleaned I mean we put things away, loaded dishes, swept and vacuumed. We did not dust, mop or do any real scrubbing. It was good enough for government work. Not great, but good enough to go get a Christmas tree.
We grabbed a saw, warmed up the tractor and were just about to head out when Henry ran to go get Tom’s pride and joy - the ginormous Costco flashlight.
“Dad would want us to have this.”
“It’s not even near dark. I hope it won’t take that long, Sweet Pea,” I said, nodding in acquiescence.
(Henry and Francine, in the background by the tree on the left, watching the festivities)
“You never know, Mama,” Henry said as he secured the flashlight between his legs and began backing up the tractor. Vivian and I walked behind as we could use the steps. We went down to the bulldozed path, but couldn’t find a tree you could hang an ornament on. There was one tree I spotted the other night but, in the light of day, I could see how spindly its branches were.
(a little sparse)
We parked the tractor and went ahead on foot, walking with our heads tilted up toward the sky, surveying the trees as we passed. On we went, deciding after much discussion we’d have to chop down a tall one with thicker branches. Then we'd cut off the bottom for firewood and use the top for our Christmas tree. We were wary of picking too big a tree and doing a Chevy-Chase-Christmas-Vacation impression. Henry and I didn’t want to cut down someone’s home. (Passing up all the Charlie Brown trees - as I hate Charlie Brown. Hate's such a strong word - Loathe)
Just about to give up, we saw a clump of dark green trees up the hill a bit. And there was a 25-footer beckoning us. It seemed a little bare on one side, but doable in a corner. I scrambled up the embankment with the saw under one arm, digging my feet into the wet earth and creating steps of a sort with my boots. I looked around. Gravity was in my favor; the tree “should” fall forward. I had Henry and Vivian clear away almost double the tree height and Henry, in turn, made sure the tractor was out of range, too. I recalled the number one cause of death in beavers – falling trees they’ve cut. I sawed a bit in the front, then went to the back. Sitting on the ground, I kept sawing and used my left foot to push the tree in the direction I wanted it to go. Success. Daniel Boone had nothing on me – for the moment.
The time had gotten away from us and the darkness was wrapping around us like a blanket. Henry fired up the tractor and backed it up to the tree. Together we muscled it from the back, threading it through the driver’s seat and all the way past the bucket. I hoisted it to one side and pushed Henry in among the branches.
(3:30 pm - the light is fading fast)
“Take the brake off, but don’t move!” I yelled over the roar of the cold tractor engine straining to warm up. It became obvious Henry didn’t hear me as the tractor inched forward and I heard the crack of plastic.
“Stop!!!! STOP!” I called with all the panic I felt.
Henry turned the engine off.
“I couldn’t stop, with the tree I couldn’t find the pedal. What happened? What’s wrong?”
“I think you rolled over your daddy’s flashlight.”
“NO! He’ll kill me!” Henry said, almost in tears.
“He won’t kill you. He’ll kill me. Anyway, it looks like it’s just fine. No harm done.”
Nighttime in the forest isn’t dark. It’s inky black. You can blink your eyes and wonder if there’s a difference. I decided Henry should drive and I’d walk behind the tree, steadying it. It seemed the best decision. He would be safe on the tractor in case of a predator. If I drove he’d be behind me in the dark where I couldn’t see him.
“Vivian!” I called, knowing she was close by. She nudged my hand with her nose. I looked down to give her a pat. Vivian had become invisible. “Don’t fasten your seatbelt this one time. If the tree shifts for some reason I don’t want you pinned in.”
With the tractor headlights dimly illuminating the way, we started for home slowly. The first time past, we couldn’t find the path home, so I went up and down with the flashlight until I located it. Then I marked it with a couple of sticks and went back for my crew. We crept through the forest toward home. Around the incline, up the hill, down the hill we went. Walking with scratchy pine needles in my face and the cold air on it, I realized we’d never forget this night. I thought how proud I was of Henry. He was doing magnificently. Driving so carefully. He was the one who came prepared with the flashlight just in case – so much like his father. I thought, I don’t tell him enough lately how well I think he’s doing because there’s always something like dishes he didn’t clear, orange socks he left on the floor, a cat box he forgot to clean, a bedtime he avoided or teeth he didn’t brush. Unless reminded. As I was marching along behind him wondering how many steps I’d logged, I noticed my jacket was scraping the bark of some of the trees. I was walking too close to the trees on the left side of the path. No sooner had I thought the thought than the tractor toppled off the path. I saw Henry perched on top. My heart leapt in my chest; I worried the tractor would fall and he would be crushed. But, in a flash, all was stable.
(Our beloved Kubota and our lovely Christmas tree - stuck )
“Mom! I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Henry said with tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t see the path turn. The tree. The dark. I’m sorry!”
“Henry, I’m just happy you’re OK. You’re safe. We’ll get the tractor out. Somehow.” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’m the adult. I made the decision. If it’s anyone’s fault, it's mine. I made the decision. You didn’t do anything wrong. You drove safely. I was just thinking how well you were doing.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, let’s see what we have here.” I assessed the damage. “Yep. It’s stuck. The front tires are in the creek. We can’t do anything now, so let’s get home.”
“I better call your father.”
“What’s he going to say?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What are you going to say?” Henry asked again.
“I don’t know.” I dialed the phone.
“Hello,” came over the phone. Tom’s voice has a soothing effect on me. I felt better already.
“Pea? Uh. The tractor’s stuck in a creek.”
“Huh?” Not the tyrannical response Henry feared. More what I was expecting - if you can anticipate a response to an accidental tractor ditching.
“What now?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t really know. I was thinking of calling Triple A. They probably won’t do it, but I thought I’d ask. I know it’s not the County way, but I don’t know who else to call.”
“You never know, I guess. Did you get the tree? “
“It’s on the tractor.” After that, there wasn’t really much to say. So we hung up.
Alexis stopped by. I relayed the events, and soon we were out in the jeep seeing what could be done. Not much as it turned out. We’d have a better look at it in the morning. Alexis thought it needed a winch. He didn’t have a winch, but he wanted one. We drove back.
(back to the scene of the crime)
(Alexis seeing if I missed something - no, it's stuck)
(We had to try)
Henry was so upset he’d baked pumpkin muffins and was watching an “All My Children" episode to drown his sorrows. During the show I had an idea. I’d email Kristi and Stan. I couldn’t be the first person on Mosquito Lake Road to have ditched a tractor.
In the morning, Kristi called. She’d gotten my email and, like good neighbors, they were there. We went out to view the situation. Stan walked around. Looked at it and decided we needed a winch. A winch.
(Stan surveying the situation)
“Well, I don’t have one, but I’ve always wanted one,” Stan sort of snickered. After a cross-examination by Kristi, he contended he didn’t know anyone who had a winch. I called Little Chris Donaldson. He didn’t have one either, but he wanted one. I never knew men wanted winches the way my friends and I wanted KitchenAid™ mixers.
Triple A turned me down just as Alexis came by. I updated him, lamenting this was going to end up costing me a lot more than the price of a Christmas tree. He told me he thought we could get it out. A believer in Christmas Miracles, hard work and knowing an ant can move a rubber tree plant, I got my boots on.
(jacked up and ready for rocks)
I cringed when Alexis insisted we cut the tree off the tractor. I was still harboring thoughts of getting it back in one piece. We spent the better part of the day out there. We put rocks under the tires to try and gain traction, we hooked a cable up to the jeep to try to tip and steady it. We dug and dug and dug away the dirt the tires kicked up. Then we started again. Moving the tractor even a few inches was a win. We won some, we lost more.
(Getting some traction)
(oops - Pea is going to see I got his jacket dirty)
(Irish at the ready with snakelike reflexes. Guarding me in case of predators - or is he taking a nap?)
(instant traction)
The more we had to dig and reposition our boards and stones, the more vertical the angle became. The bottom part of the Christmas tree became a wedge. Undaunted, we kept going until dark. When we stopped our smidges and inches added up to seven whole feet. We told ourselves we were successful. We started again in the morning and so on and on and on. Everything else I was supposed to be working on was put on hold.(buckets and buckets of rocks)
To my surprise, when I got in, covered with mud from head to toe, Henry had made the coffee for the next day, folded the laundry and practiced his trumpet. I found him in my bed devouring the last book in the “Twilight” trilogy.
Every time I called Pea, he said, “Every time you call I hope you’re going to tell me it’s out.” So, after that, I started every conversation with “This isn’t the call.”
(Alexis' hard work)
The next day I had to run Henry around a bit. When I got back, Alexis had dug under the tires and created stone tracks. He was ready for me. We hooked up the jeep and gunned it. The tractor pulled and lurched and spun. Then it began to move. Slowly, it crawled up out of its hole onto the dirt road. I think I might have heard angels singing.
(V-I-C-T-O-R-Y)
Alexis packed up the picks, shovels, sledges and chain and put them in the jeep while I started the tractor up and headed for home. I could hear “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again - Hurrah – Hurrah” in my head. Since there was no one around, except maybe Francine, I belted it out. Who’s going to hear me over the tractor, anyway? I got a couple hundred feet when I realized I’d forgotten the tree. Afraid of running out of gas, I walked back and carried the monstrosity as best I could to the tractor, throwing it across the bucket. All the way back it bounced dramatically, while I serenaded Abe, Anna and Andy along the way with “Hurrah, Hurrah”. I parked and went in.
(I used a different camera - here's a very fuzzy picture of the ultimate victory - and you can see the upper peaks still need lights on this side)
“This is the phone call where I tell you the tractor’s out! Call me back.” I grabbed a pumpkin muffin and the rest of the icicle Christmas lights, went upstairs where Henry was reading and climbed out the second story window. I’d just gotten one strand done when the truck with the marshmallow-looking round bales of hay arrived. I hopped back inside, came out with the check and told the man where to unload.
(hay silage)
“I’ve never had these kind of bales before. Wow, they’re really pungent. I can smell them from here. What do they smell like? They smell like hard cider.”
“Yeah, they’re fermented, but they’re fine. Hey, did you need help with a tractor? Ron said you were looking for a winch. Don’t have one, but I’d like one, though. They’re handy.”
(1000 lb giant marshmallows of hay)
“No. We got it out actually. Thanks. Merry Christmas!"
“Merry Christmas!” Fermented hay, a little holiday cheer for the Devons.
