Some of the best yuletide memories were made many moons ago when my buddy Hog Ears and I would head into the woods to cut our own Christmas tree.
Back then we were living the dream, sharing a backwoods bachelor cabin so far out in the sticks that Santa had to put a brighter bulb in Rudolph's nose to find us.
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 acres of Ozarks paradise. A clear stream flowed right through our front yard, near the cabin's front porch. Our landlord lived in town and rented the cabin to Hog Ears and me so we'd watch his cattle.
"You boys can hunt, fish in 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 a month, utilities paid. When I recruited Hog Ears to move in with me, that cut it to $25.
Such a cabin isn't for everyone. The only heat was a fireplace in the living room and a wood stove in back by the bathroom. The kitchen was in between and was cold most of winter. We didn't really need a refrigerator.
It was four miles of rough gravel road to the pavement. Our nearest neighbor lived a mile away. To Hog Ears and me, the place was paradise. Our landlord's blessing included cutting our own Christmas tree.
About this time in December, we'd hop into Hog Ears' 1970 Chevy Suburban, way before Suburbans were cool, to go cut our tree. We'd cross the creek and bump along two-track lane through the woods. A red Homelite chain saw bounced around in the back seat on the short drive to a cedar glade.
The clearing looked like a city Christmas tree lot. Cedar trees of all sizes grew in the glade. We could choose a Charlie Brown tree or one fit for the White House. We strolled around the glade looking for something in between.
When we agreed on the perfect tree, I'd yank the saw's starter cord and the Homelite would growl to life in a haze of blue smoke. Seconds later, our cedar tree was down and stuffed into the rear of the Suburban.
Back at the cabin, we dragged the tree in through the screen door trunk first. That way no branches would break. Trouble was, our tree was twice as wide as the door. We couldn't muscle it inside, so Hog Ears got a come-along out of his Suburban and we winched that baby indoors.
Funny how our tree looked smaller out there in the glade. When we stood it up, the top took a hard right and ran a good two feet along the ceiling. We wrestled 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 the tackle box. We didn't fish much in winter, but those shiny lures made great Christmas ornaments. Crank baits, spoons and spinner baits all went on the branches. 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 lovely wife and two daughters. We always talk about our cedar Christmas trees whenever we chit chat over the holidays.
Flip Putthoff can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter @NWAFlip
Sports on 12/20/2016