The Top of the Tree

 

 

Henry was barely a tree when some stupid kid snapped his top off and tossed it onto the grassy knoll that served as an entrance to the tree farm. The lot was almost a forest. He watched as each Christmas traveler crushed his broken leader into the mud. It never really grew back. As the years passed, Henry became a strong and sturdy tree. He carried himself to the standard of any Christmas tree farm. For all his vigor and stature, year after year, come the day after Christmas and he stood alone. Sitting on the edge of the lot did him no good, without fail come the yuletide season and he found himself unwanted. Passersby would comment on his beauty then walk away and desert him once again. Henry started to believe that he would never be a real Christmas tree.

Despite the constant rejection, Henry managed a purpose through the rest of the year. Birds would nest in his branches and small animals would seek shelter underneath his heavy lower boughs. Every summer, spiders would set up their traps and creepy crawling things would seek his richness to avoid the rain. Come the snow and the wind,  Henry was a warmer  place. The denseness of his needles and the fullness of his form offered protection from a cold winter’s night. Day after day, he sat waiting for his top to grow back but it never did. He sure did. It was a curse he supposed, a Christmas tree with no support for a star or an angel. One year, a male chipmunk named Dave set up shop in his branches. For awhile, he was his closest friend. Eventually, Dave found love and moved away. Like life without a steeple, his friend was gone, and Henry faced another Christmas season. He didn’t hold out hope. He didn’t even wish. Henry sat on the corner spot, and he surrendered. He would no longer dream of Christmas morning. He no longer believed that his lot in this life would change. 

 

Even in a torrent, hope always floats.

 

The little boy looked at Henry with a smile. He was everything the boy had dreamed of in a tree. His father was well pleased, considering he would not have to trudge through the tree farm if they settled on Henry. The tree could hardly believe it when the man picked up his saw and teased. The boy, and the dog that came with him, danced around Henry with a certain kind of joy only children and animals seem to possess. With the father came the mother. She stood, arms crossed, in her mind placing Henry in her front window for all the world to see. “There’s something wrong,” she said with a frown. “There is no top of the tree.” Henry was defeated as they walked away, the child crying from want. It wasn’t long before the boy discovered another option, one that was everything the boy had dreamed of in a tree. This tree had a crown on the top.  

 

Over the years, Henry grew and he grew. He was a stunning testament to nature regardless of any missing lid. Every day, Henry sat watching the world go by and he did not dream. There was little purpose in hoping when there was no hope. He watched the pruners come and go. He watched the snow come in December, and the snow melt come April. He spent his summers giving shade and autumn blocking the wind. Despite his disability, Henry got bigger every year. Eventually, he realized he would soon be one of those abandoned trees that become far too big for Christmas. Come early November and the farmer who owns the property pulled up onto that grassy knoll and he and his wife got out of the truck. He then grabbed some sort of sign from the cab and reached down, finally pulling out a hammer. The man walked directly over to Henry, touched the post to the ground and with a few short bursts, drove it home. “Not for sale” was Henry’s epitaph. When the wife questioned the sign, all the farmers had to say was, “It’s too big.”

 

When the farmer told his wife Henry was no longer for sale, the tree understood the sign and what it meant. Henry was just too big to be anything but an outside tree. All the years of not wishing and not hoping and not dreaming seemed met. Henry was lost a little, at least the little that a tree could muster. He was defeated and as sad as a blue spruce could ever be. His animal friends didn’t help at all, as they ran back to their family and the life they got to lead. He was angry, angry at the young boy who broke off the top of the tree. He was angry at all the people who had disregarded him simply for lack of a steeple. All that waited for him now was removal and the inevitable refuge pile on the other side of the farm. Henry shivered, not so much from the cold but at the very idea that his purpose was over and he never got to be a Christmas tree.

 

The ladder truck was used primarily for pruning larger trees. On occasion, it would serve a more primal cause. The truck parked to the back of Henry and raised its cab to his top. Slowly, up and down, men draped Henry with strands and strings and dangly things. Several people handed the workmen large balls and shiny bits of light. Soon Henry was covered, from his base to the top of the tree. The very last thing one of the decorators did was take the cab back to the top and secure something Henry could not see. Someone then brought out a cord of sorts, it ran from the attendance gate just a few meters away. Henry was confused by all the ruckus. He had never seen anyone on the farm do this sort of thing to any other tree. Suddenly, as the sun hit the late afternoon sky, everyone left Henry. The trucks pulled away, the farmer disappeared, and the tree farm closed up for another day. Henry sat alone again, unsure of what had happened, unsure he would be okay. Suddenly, the lights came on.

  

Every Christmas since then, Henry has illuminated the entrance of his tree farm. He didn’t get to be a Christmas tree for just one Christmas; he got to be a Christmas tree every year. Henry grew comfortable with his beauty and continued to share his safety throughout the other seasons. He was regal, humble and majestic in his own way. The first Christmas they lit him up, his old friend Dave dropped in for some yuletide cheer. Henry spotted his approach, glad to see his buddy. Dave couldn’t believe his eyes. So many colors, so many lights. Henry was a Christmas tree. Dave looked up, way up and he saw it. “Henry,” he said with a smile, “you’ve got a star on top.”