Making the tree stand up straight

Editor's note: This column originally was published Dec. 5, 1999.

The morning after Thanksgiving there was the first ice of the season in the bird bath. New, deeper bath bowl too. All ruffled around the edges like a fancy concrete pond lily. Bob and Doris helped with seeing that it wouldn't be turned over and broken so easily. The birds liked it too.

The morning after it was put up, five robins rimmed the bowl, drinking thirstily. It took them a little longer to wade in. I think they saw their reflections in the water and thought, quizzically, that their kin or friends were already in the bath.

The coming of the ice seems to be a notice to the red breasts that it is time to oil their feathers for that southward journey. Fewer and fewer of them are seen now, but of late, one or two seem to hang around all winter. I don't know how they make it since the worms go deeper into the ground and the insects are in another stage, wrapped safely in protective cocoons and chrysalises, under old logs or tree bark.

With the coming of the first ice, one of my first thoughts is, how am I going to make my Christmas tree stand up straight this year? In spite of all the tree stands I've had over the years, none of them has been completely satisfactory. They all lean or tilt to one side, according to the shape of the tree.

Seems as if I haven't had a good solid stand-up-straight tree since Dad nailed those old two planks together and nailed the tree to the planks.

Last year I had fair luck with it. At least if it tended to lean, I just pushed it the other way and it stayed erect for a few days before I had to give it another push.

I had it anchored in a big wooden cheese box, 8 inches deep with a 36-inch circumference with big and little rocks all around the 8-inch bottom of the tree trunk. Not just any old rocks but rocks Edward and I had collected from ancient Indian mounds. These can be placed together until their holding power is almost as sturdy as a New England field fence.

I'm sure you can assume I have a small tree. Don't cry for me.

I decorate that round wooden cheese box to look like the Little Drummer Boy's drum. A Christmas tree growing right out of Rumpy-pump-pum.

Of course, the Little Drummer Boy didn't know what a Christmas tree looked like, or what it was for. That part of Christmas didn't come until later. Much later. We read about it in German literature in 1604.

As I rummaged around for the other Christmas stuff in what I often call the attic but which I now call the loft to keep up with the modern parlance, I spied the little kerosene stove. My eyes lingered on its location as if to remember where I might find it again. Some of the Y2K precautions have mentioned having a kerosene heater on hand.

When I was given this heater, many years ago when the then decorative craze of antiquing and used it as a plant stand as did everyone else. That fashion run its course.

So, much like everything else that serves its time, I stored it away. Now, will it be recycled to serve its original purpose? The wick is brand new, the instructions are inside, untouched. If the heat goes off due to some electronic glitch, that little accessory may come in handy to a fireplace-less home. Which room will I heat? Is it feasible?

If not, I have another backup system. I still have chimneys with flue holes (now covered and papered or plastered over). Maybe I should place an old cast-iron kitchen range and King heater on my Christmas wish list. Neighbor Dick has a tremendous woodpile due to last May's storm. Humm?

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.