The Christmas Tree- Return to Cheaha Mountain

“The Christmas Tree – Return to Cheaha Mountain”
John’s 30th Annual Christmas Poem
By John R. Wible
December 25, 2010

1957, a simpler time: Sputnik had not yet flown, no one possessed a cell phone or IPad and Elvis had just hit the big time; And Val’s biggest worry was making an “A” on next week’s spelling test right before the Christmas holidays. Val almost always made “A’s” in spelling and in fact in most all his second grade subjects. It seemed to be an expectation, a “must do.” Failure was not an option and making less than an “A” was a failure. If Val failed, he would be left alone he felt - alone like he felt when his mother deserted him in the ladies lingerie section of Loveman’s; or alone like the time the school bus left him because he was seconds late; or alone like he felt when he found no one at the church and believed that the Rapture of the Church had come and he had been left behind.

Perhaps, he felt like a failure and alone because his classmates ostracized him just because he was who he was. Val never forgot those feelings of failure and “aloneness,” and Val did not like to be left alone.

On the other hand, above all other people, Val loved and idolized his father, Cecil. Cecil never seemed to place expectations on Val and never seemed to show disappointment when Val didn’t live up to the expectations that were placed on him.

But all of that was left behind today, because today was special day. Val and Cecil were going up beautiful Mount Cheaha, as they had done for as long as Val could remember, to get the family Christmas tree. They drove the windy gravel road until it became a narrow dirt road and finally ended in a clearing, an island of sunlight amidst the hovering sassafras, hawthorn, and river birch and of course, pine trees at the opening of a great wood. In that wood, somewhere Val knew was “their” Christmas tree.

This was a special day of the year for Val, a gift, if you will, from Cecil to him – not so much the gift of the Christmas tree or of the presents that would be placed under the Christmas tree, but the gift of the time that Cecil spent with Val in this shared enterprise. The day always made Val feel “special;” And Val needed to feel “special.”

They parked the black over white Bel Air with black wall tires, no air conditioner and no radio; got a bow saw and some ropes in a gunny sack out of the trunk; and began their tireless trek into the wild and wondrous wood. Cecil told Val, “Be careful where you are walking, the snakes are still crawling even at this elevation of the mountain.”

The very mention of snakes raised the hair on the back of Val’s neck, for more than being left alone, he feared snakes. But as they walked deeper and deeper into the wood, climbing ever higher and higher, Val became easier and the “snake warning” became less of a sting to his young mind.
Travelling now deeply into the wood, they searched for the “perfect” tree and in a sunlit clearing, they saw it, the most beautiful Virginia pine tree that Val had ever seen.

Cecil opened the gunny sack carrying the ropes and bow saw, got out the saw and began to first clear from around its base of the underbrush and then began to cut the tree. “Schree-scraw, schree-scraw, schree-scraw,” went the saw making the familiar cutting noise that was one of the pleasing sounds of the adventure to which Val always looked forward until “crack, thwish, thud,” it sounded as it toppled to the straw-covered mat, the floor of the wood.

“Hand me the rope and we’ll tie it on ‘er and pull ‘er out,” ordered Cecil to Val as the first and most exciting part of the job was now complete. But, as Val reached his hand into the sack to retrieve the rope, Cecil suddenly spoke in an ominous and entirely different tone of voice – loud and direct - calm, yet with a sense of urgency. “Don’t move.” Val let loose of the sack and turned his head toward Cecil and said, “What, Daddy?” And at that instant, a coiled rattlesnake moved toward Val.

Time moved in slow motion for Val as he saw with one eye the snake flying straight as an arrow toward him and with the other, Cecil stretching out between Val and the snake. In mid-air, Cecil caught the snake by the neck and they both fell to the straw covered mat. The snake began to coil itself around Cecil, striking him again and again and again.

Time now stopped, rational thought ended and fantasy took flight for Val. In his seven-year olds mind’s eye, he saw Cecil and the snake rolling around on the ground locked in mortal combat which must have lasted for hours in this time-frozen state of mind. As Val seemed to gain the upper hand with the snake, the creature began to grow larger and larger until it became a huge black dragon with gold tipped wings and an arrow shaped tail.

Undaunted, Cecil maintained his death grip about the reptile’s neck and squeezed until with a “crack,” the neck was broken. In Val’s mind, it was as though the dragon deflated and became snaked-sized again and lay lifeless upon the mat. Cecil slumped beside it – himself mortally wounded.

A sudden wave of guilt passed over Val as he realized that his father was mortally wounded because Val had not followed his instruction. Val had failed once again and this time his failure had killed his father. Cecil looked up at Val and painfully yet with certainty, put his arm around his shaken son. “Daddy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t do what you said,” cried Val with tears of fear and remorse. “I forgive you, son, never think of it again,” said Cecil in a tone of assurance that Val had never heard quite so definitely before. As Cecil held Val in his arms, Val felt safe and secure once again. Cecil’s voice grew more hushed. “Don’t be afraid, son, I’ll always be with you and I’ll always protect you. Nothing can ever harm you if you stay close to me.” And then he smiled lovingly and lay back onto the tree upon which he had fallen.

As he lay back on the tree, in Val’s mind’s eye, he say Cecil’s spirit rise from him, a benevolent spirit which came over to him and held him in his arms just the way Cecil had done. And Cecil’s spirit said, “Come with me, I want to show you something.” So Val un-kneeled and walked with Cecil’s spirit just as he had walked with Cecil before. And he felt the same warmth and love that he had always felt. The Spirit said, “Son, we will have many rough places to go and hills and mountains to climb but I will guide you and uphold you and you will never need to be afraid or feel guilty or alone.”

They walked on through the wood climbing ever higher and higher. Eventually, they descended slightly to Pulpit Rock. Val looked down at the verdant valley below. The Spirit said as he pointed, “All of this valley is yours because it is mine and you are my son and heir. But more importantly, all of the people in the valley are your people. Love them as I love you.”

Beside Pulpit rock is the ruin of an old church. They climbed the still remaining great stone and masonry steps through medieval-looking arches – all which remained of what was once a great pinhoti cathedral. The ceiling now was the blinding blue canopy of the late fall sky and the floor, the vast valley below. This was the precipice, the point of no return, the end … perhaps. The Spirit said, “I’ve got to go now, but I will always be with you and I will always love you, my son. Never be afraid.” Then the Spirit disappeared.

Val stood and took in the scene for a long time for there was a lot to take in and on many different, but related levels. His thoughts turned to how once again his failure has caused him to be left alone. However, his attention was diverted by a flight of sparrows beginning to search for their evening bites, and he was reminded of the words of the old song, “His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me.” Then following along behind the sparrows, he saw forever circling the red-tailed hawk and he remembered Cecil’s words, “I forgive you.” In that moment, Val felt both forgiven and unforsaken – no longer alone.

As the silky shadows of evening began to rise up the craggy crest of the Great Mountain, Val knew it was time to go. Retracing his steps, Val began his descent to find Cecil’s body, still lying upon the tree of sacrifice, his blood still dripping on its branches like Crimson-coloured ornaments. He wondered what he would do with that body. Back through the arches, back by Pulpit Rock, down the wooded path Cecil trudged, tiredness now beginning to set in on his little frame.

Finally he reached the clearing where Cecil’s body had fallen onto the Christmas tree. But hurrying over to the site, he discovered that the body was no longer there. He looked around for signs of where someone else may have taken the body, but finding none, he realized that somehow, his Heavenly Father had taken care of Cecil as Cecil had promised to take care of Val.

What he did see however, was some of Cecil’s still-present blood hanging from the myriad of branches of the Christmas tree like those Crimson-coloured ornaments that he had imagined at the top of the mountain. “How fitting,” he thought, “that Cecil, who gave his life for me left some of his blood to remember him by and left me this Christmas tree upon which he once had lain.” It was not the Christmas tree that was the gift to him but what the blood-formed ornaments meant that was the Christmas gift to Val.
. . .

Though now it is no longer 1957 and life and circumstances have grown much more complex, man has walked upon the face of the moon and passed into history, everyone has a cell phone or an IPad and Elvis has left the building years ago, Val still remembers that fateful Christmas in 1957 when he learned that his failures and shortcomings, both real and imagined, were forgiven and that he would never again be alone.
Now, I can’t think of a better Christmas gift . . . can you?
. . .
Here’s wishing you a happy and forgiven Christmas.

John R. Wible

For an annotated version and the vision from which this was taken, see: HTTP://johnwible.blogspot.com

A colour copy is also available is John’s downloads at: http://www.slideshare.net/jwible/