RIVER CITY JOURNAL: OVER HILLS, THROUGH WOODS TO FIND A FINE CEDAR TREE

In the Ozarks of yesteryear, folks got their Christmas trees with an ax instead of checkbook. They're all pretty, though.

My favorite hometown over in the Ozark hills west of here has put up the community Christmas tree on Main Street, right across from the Methodist church. I don't think that means the tree is Methodist. I think the big cedar is for everyone, although small things like where the tree is located can turn into a town feud faster than a Baptist can backslide down the slippery slope.

I don't mean to pick on Baptists. I could just as easily have mentioned Catholics or Presbyterians. Heck, even some Episcopalians have their vices, although they may not realize it until someone points it out during the social hour after church services on Sunday.

But this is the season of good cheer, so let's not start a religious war -- although I still wonder why the Methodists were so lucky to get the big tree this year when either the Baptists at the south end of town where the highway makes a Y or the Catholics at the other Y on the north end of town have much bigger lawns and the advantage of high-traffic visibility.

Besides the denominational issue of the community Christmas tree, the picture in my favorite hometown newspaper showed a huge cedar tree being decorated by volunteers -- I don't even know if they go to church -- who were putting strings of lights on the scratchy boughs.

For most of us who grew up in the Ozarks, "Christmas tree" means "cedar tree." Of course, most of us grew up long before artificial trees or service-club lots full of exotic trees imported from far-off places like Canada and Wisconsin. Cedar trees grow abundantly in the vast woodlands of the Ozarks. And they have the right shape, although many cedars that look pretty from a distance derive their bushiness from the fact that two or three trees are growing together, which makes it hard to put the plump collection on a stable stand. Don't forget that store-bought stands used to be relatively rare as well, and homemade contraptions -- odd pieces of lumber nailed together and some baling wire -- were commonplace.

Curiously, cedar trees grow almost everywhere in the Ozarks except Kelo Valley, where I grew up. This wasn't the only peculiar thing about Kelo Valley. There were no springs on the valley. As a result, the creek that ran the entire length of the valley was usually dry unless a spring thunderstorm produced a big runoff, and then the creek would run wildly down toward Black River, washing out any roads that got in its way.

My childhood logic was that cedars would only grow where there were springs, because all the other valleys around had both springs and cedars.

Getting a Christmas tree for our family meant going to a relative's farm and asking to cut down a cedar tree. This was no problem. What's one cedar tree, more or less? Most relatives like to think they have the prettiest cedar trees and take it as a compliment when someone asks to cut a tree.

My favorite place to go for a tree was on Brushy Creek Valley where my mother grew up. Her relatives, Uncle Posey and Aunt Lester -- no, I didn't get the names backwards -- were always glad to have us come for a tree and a visit. There's nothing quite like setting off through the fields toward the woods armed with an ax. Young boys, who are repeatedly admonished not to even walk fast, much less run, while carrying scissors can get pretty puffed up carrying a sharp ax on the Christmas tree expedition.

Once you get the tree to your house comes the chore of making it stand as straight in your living room as it did out in the woods. Cedar trees don't always cooperate, depending on your stand or how well you adjust the baling wire. Talk about backsliding. Some of the holiday language that goes with mounting a fresh cedar on some crisscrossed boards can be mighty colorful. But, eventually, you would have a decorated tree with all the familiar ornaments and garland and tinsel -- does anyone use tinsel anymore? -- and big red and blue and green lights that couldn't be left on too long for fear of setting the tree on fire.

There is a moment every Christmas season when it comes time to step back from the newly decorated tree and take in the beauty of your handiwork, whether the tree is real or artificial, cedar or spruce. How satisfying it is to look at the tree and say, "This is the best Christmas tree we've ever had."

I like to think that Jesus, whose birth is the reason for Christmas trees -- even the ones painted silver with puffs of pink snow, gets a kick out of all those decorated trees. I hope he thinks they're all the best he's ever seen. As far as I know, he doesn't care whether the trees are put up by Lutherans or Mormons or Quakers.

He wasn't much of a joiner, you know.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.