Halls Decked With Christmas Cedar

BACKWOODS BACHELORS FIRE UP HOMELITE FOR THE HOLIDAYS

The most joyous of yuletide chores took place many moons ago when my buddy Hog Ears and I would head into the woods to cut our own Christmas tree.

Back then, Hog Ears and I were living the dream, sharing a backwoods bachelor cabin so far out in the toolies that Santa had to put a brighter bulb in Rudolph’s nose to fi nd us.

Oh, we were on his good list, all right. Firewood was stacked on the front porch with care, to warm St.

Nick’s cold derriere.

Our cabin was smack dab in the middle of a thousand-acre Ozarks paradise. A clear, yearround stream fl owed through our front yard, right by the cabin’s front porch.

Our landlord lived in town, but rented the cabin to Hog Ears and me so we’d watch his cattle.

“You boys can hunt, fi sh in the creek, do whatever you want out there. Just keep the gate closed,” he’d say.

Rent was pretty steep when I lived in the cabin by myself - 50 bucks a month, utilities paid. When I recruited Hog Ears to move in with me, that cut it to $25.

Married folk might deem our cabin unfi t for habitation. The only heat: a fireplace in the living room and a wood stove by the bathroom. The kitchen was in between and usually cold. We didn’t really need a refrigerator. It was 4 miles of bad road to the pavement and our nearest neighbor was a mile away.

To Hog Ears and me, the place was paradise. Our landlord’s “do whatever you want” blessing included cutting our own Christmas tree.

About this time in December, we’d hop into Hog Ears’ 1970s model Chevy Suburban, way before Suburbans were cool. Off we’d go across the creek and down a lane into the woods. A Homelite chain saw bounced around in the back on the drive to a cedar glade.

The clearing looked like an Optimist Club Christmas tree lot. Cedar trees of all shapes and sizes grew in the glade. Golden grass under the bottom boughs was nature’s Christmas treeskirt. We could choose a Charlie Brown tree, or one fit for the White House. We strolled around the glade, looking for something in between.

“This one looks about right,” Hog Ears said, tilting his head back and squinting to see the tree’s top. I yanked the the saw’s starter cord and the Homelite growled in a haze of sweetsmelling blue smoke. A minute later the tree was down and we had it stuff ed in the back of the Suburban.

Back at the cabin, we made sure to drag our tree through the front door trunk first. That way no branches would break. Try as we might, the two of us weren’t strong enough to muscle the cedar into the living room. It was too big.

Hog Ears went to his Suburban and got a comealong. A few push-pulls of the handle winched the tree into the living room. When we stood it up, the top of our Christmas tree took a hard right at the rafters and ran 3 feet along the ceiling.

We set the trunk in a stand and secured the top to the ceiling with a nail. You don’t see trees like this in “Southern Living.”

Next, we got out our tackle boxes. We didn’t fi sh much in the winter, but all those shiny lures made the best Christmas ornaments.

Crank baits, jerk baits, spoons and top-water plugs all went on the branches.

Spinner-bait blades would twirl a little and refl ect light from the fi replace.

A string or two of lights and we had us a tree, all right, one we cut and decorated ourselves.

Now Hog Ears lives in Alaska with his wife and two lovely daughters. I haven’t moved too far from the that glade of cedars and golden grass where Christmas memories were made.

FLIP PUTTHOFF IS OUTDOORS EDITOR FOR NWA MEDIA.

FOLLOW HIM ON TWITTER @NWAFLIP.

Outdoor, Pages 6 on 12/19/2013

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