THE REAL McCOY

It rattled and vibrated violently, and our teeth rattled too. Dead brown needles rained down from the inner branches. I always felt Mr. Bell earned every cent of the twelve dollar charge and then some, especially if it was a rainy cold day, which it was.

The Christmas trees are pruned regularly all year long so that they form a perfect cone shape. A little too perfect, to my way of thinking. Actually, I understand how he'd need to make them look like the artificial ones or nobody would buy them.

Since they were so bushy we couldn't really see the trunk at all. We just picked the size that fit into our living room.

Well. This tree had been pruned, and pruned, and pruned again, for many, many years. Sure it looked like a sapling, but under all those needles and pine cones was hiding a thick, heavy tree trunk of a twenty-year-old tree.

Mr. Bell cheerfully acknowleged the fact, and fired up his chainsaw to hack off a couple big chunks of trunk in an effort to create a more tree-stand-friendly base. It's really something to see -- I mean Mr. Bell using that chainsaw. After all, he's only got one arm. I was getting a little nervous.

He trimmed down the trunk, then stood back to size up his work. "There ya go," he said with finality. He has many years of experience in matters like these, so we took his judgment as gospel and went on our merry way.

But it was nowhere near enough, we discovered later, in the rain, on our back porch. Vernal laboriously whittled the trunk down some more with a small handsaw, until it squeezed into the flimsy Wal-mart stand. And then, wetly, slowly, and heavily, toppled over.

Abruptly, Vernal declared, "No tree this year."

Shortly after this announcement, he heaved the tree over the edge of a wooded gully behind the house, stand and all, dried himself off, took a box of Cheezits out of the kitchen cabinet, parked in his favorite chair, and clicked on the TV.

But the kids were coming home, and a tree was a must.

I retreived the stand and drove twenty miles to a tree lot. No more tree farms for me today. All they had were Frazier Firs, and I bought one, even though it was quite pricey.

Later, back on the deck, in the rain, some swear words were uttered as the Frazier Fir was squeezed into the cheap stand.

When the holidays were over, I ordered a large, heavy cast-iron stand from L.L. Bean. It was manufactured in a foundry in Pennsylvania which had been in business for 102 years. The real McCoy.

Weeks later, Vernal called from the desk where he pays bills, "What's this $52 charge from L.L. Bean?"

"A Christmas tree stand."

No response.

You know, we'll probably go back to Bell's Tree Farm next year after all.

My neighbors, Elbert and Joella, have a tall, gorgeous artificial tree. It takes hours to assemble with all its numbered branches. Elbert made an unpleasant fuss about it last year, so they left the tree put-together and now they just keep it on their back porch. It stands there year-round, underneath a green plastic cover, between the gas grill and the patio table. After Thanksgiving, they simply yank it indoors.

But I don't think I would want that. It just doesn't sound like any fun to me.