The merriment and excitement in the faces of my siblings,Sharon, Harold, and Barry, undoubtedly matched my own. It was Christmas andtime to put up the tree. For the past several weeks leading into Christmas, we had saved the eggcartons and prepared for this day. The box of pressed-cardboard bells were stackedand ready, their colours influenced by whatever our minds could create with thesixteen pack of Crayola’s that we shared. 

With two pairs of scissors, myself and Sharon, the eldest ofthe four, did the cutting. We carefully snipped off the cover and then acrossthe rows of the carton, being careful not to tear into the cup portion and ruinand opportunity to craft an ornament.

Having the couple of dozen free, their edges shaped in wigglesand triangles by our small hands, we all took to designing. Once we had drawnand coloured stripes, waves, diamonds, and circles on the brownish background,I had the task of making the hole in the top. The puncture was a skilled affairso as not to tear the decoration or make the hole too big that the yarnwouldn’t hold. Sharon carefully clipped off grey yarn while Barry and Haroldmade whopping great knots on the end and pushed the other end through theholes, sometimes with the aid of the scissors tip. I finished them off with aloop tied on the outer end big enough to hang on the limbs.

When all the bells were complete, the next task was thegarland. That year we had a package of multi-coloured construction paper. Sharonand I were again the scissor wielding strip cutters. Harold and Barry contortedthem into circles and used the Elmer glue to dab the ends keeping the pressureon them until they dried.

After all the strips were cut and many of the loops weremade, we worked together to join the loops and make a multi-coloured paperchain for the tree. We piled the bells and paper chains in a Carnation milk boxuntil we were ready.

With axe and bucksaw in hand, we headed in over the ridge tofind the perfect tree. Some of the requirements included a small size that waseasy to drag out. We were allowed to venture as far as Soaker’s Path which wason the hill behind the back meadow. This was shouting distance from the backdoor. There was lots of young spruce growth, so we picked a tree that wasBarry’s height and cut it down. We took turns pulling the tree along the top ofthe snow, all downhill, as far as the woodpile.

There, Dad nailed two splits crosswise on the stump so thatit would easily stand. Sharon helped me pick it up and carry it, butt first,around the woodpile, along the narrow path between the cribbing that held upthe back of the standing woodpile and the bordering board fence. It seemed sofar for our little legs until we reached the corner where the fence took a turnup the hill and the woodpile ended. We had the opening barred off with asection of fence so that we could create our own little house. The only way inwas through the magical passageway under the wood where we transformed fromchild to adult between ends and reverted back again on the way out.

Eagerly, Harold and Barry ran to the house and fetched thebox of decorations. The ground was uneven, so the tree was partially leaningagainst the corner in the fence. We quickly fixed that with a few strings ofyarn tied to the fence and the woodpile. It was magnificent. We set to workwith the paper chain, each one of us taking turns to fix and move and drapeuntil it was perfect. Then we took the bells and strung them from the branches.The wool from the hangers puffed on the limb and was difficult to move onceturpentine from the fresh tree grabbed on to it. That left globs of decorationsin some places until we decided to plan instead of just doing.

We admired our creation before Barry mentioned we didn’thave a star. We dragged the milk box back to the house and cut out a five-pointstar. Mom gave us a strip off the tinfoil roll. We crinkled it over thecardboard until everything was covered and shiny and fingerprinty.

Dad cracked off the narrowest split from the woodbox and wescotched-taped it to what we concluded was the back. We took more yarn tofasten that to the narrow sprig at the height of the young spruce. Away we wentagain to crown the Christmas Tree. Harold balanced on the top of the fence andheld the star while Barry tipped the tree forward and me and Sharon strung theyarn around and around until the star’s fate was sealed. We gingerly placed ourElizabethan tree back in the corner and fidgeted with the paper chain untilnothing was bare.

Our tree was complete but for one thing, we had to set ourplaces around it. We raced out the passageway and grabbed four chunks of woodthat Dad had clove and threw into a pile by the sawhorse. The biggest ones madethe best chairs. This wood was dry so there was no chance of getting stickyturpentine on our pants. We laid the sticks with the rolly side down around thetiny space. I chose closest to the woodpile because it gave me the best viewingangle and I could lean on the sticks when I wanted.

We all sat in silence our rosy cheeks bursting with pride aswe gazed at the Christmas Tree in our own little house. The egg-carton bellsswayed in the icy breeze of the winter air where it found its way between thecracks of the fence behind it. We discussed whether we’d lay stockings out butdecided against it because it might be cold on Christmas morning. It was betterif Santa got a rest and warmed inside the house rather than having to getthrough the narrow passage leading in.

A chill settled on us, so we ran to the house and Mom madeus each a cup of tea and a slice of toast. With great care we carried thebrimming mugs back to our spots and sipped the warm liquid and chewed on the crispyslabs of toast. Tiny flecks of snow meandered towards us to transform the innocentand homemade to enchanting and extraordinary. And boy was it ever wondrous.

Over the next three days we wore a path in and out under thewoodpile to our little cozy den at the corner of the fence where we drank tea,we laughed, we told stories, and we talked about Christmas. We lacked fornothing because we had what we needed in abundance.

Looking back, it was a perfect place for us to keep out fromunderfoot in the house. We were so grown up in our minds, we sat in wonder ofthe freedom of that hideaway and the promise of Christmas. This is one of many happyrecollections of childhood that shaped me and will stay with me forever in acocoon of warm memories. Now I want to have a cup of tea in that magical place behindthe woodpile.