Old Scotty; a Christmas story for children

The following story is based on my memories of my family's excursion to get a Christmas tree many decades ago. Most important is the lesson my children learned to not look for perfection in trees and in people.

I wrote the poem following the story the year before and expanded the poem to become a short story. ---BBB

OLD SCOTTY
A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR CHILDREN
By BumbleBeeBoogie
WrittenMarch 29, 1995

Mike and Miranda Martin nibbled on banana nut muffins in the back seat of their car on a chilly, misty early December morning. Their father drove carefully up the winding road to the Christmas tree farm high on a ridge in the Santa Cruz mountains. As they approached the tree farm, their mother pointed out the car windows at the rows of trees along side the road.

"Those are White and Douglas firs. Over there are Monterey and Scotch pines."

The family got out of the car and began walking around the rows of trees. Near the entrance to the farm stood a older, bushy, but oddly-shaped Scotch pine, sheltered by an old mis-shaped apple tree. The Scotch pine towered over the other trees. It had two V-shaped tips instead of one.

The tree farmer walked over to the Martin family.

"Welcome," he said, "I see you noticed my friend, Old Scotty."

"How did it get that name? It's a funny looking tree," said Mike. "How did it get that way?"

"Years ago," said the farmer, "during a very bad storm, a lightening bolt struck the apple tree. One of its branches crashed down on the young Scotch pine tree. It broke its tender tip. Two new V-shaped tips grew from its trunk."

"Why didn't you fix it?" asked Miranda.

"We couldn't fix it," replied the farmer. "We could only take good care of it until it healed."

"It's such a big tree," Mike said, "even if it has a funny looking top."

"I know," said the farmer, "No one wants it. But I haven't got the heart to cut down Old Scotty for firewood."

"It's sad," said the farmer. "Year after year families ignore Old Scotty as they pass by. Each Christmas I hope someone will want it for their home but everyone wants a perfect tree. Old Scotty remains season after holiday season, protected by the branches of its friend, the old apple tree."

"Poor tree," said Miranda as she patted its branches.

Several families arrived in their cars at the farm. They clustered together as they plodded through the tree rows. Boys and girls ran from tree to tree, waving to their parents with red-mittened hands. Family after family searched for the perfect tree. Children's voices echoed through the terraces, calling out to their parents.

"Look at this tree!"

"Can we get this one, Dad?"

"Please, Mom, I want this tree!"

One of the fathers showed his son how to chop the tree trunk three limbs above the ground to be sure a new tree would develop from the stump. A mother explained to her worried little girl that the tree would grow again, just like mowed grass.

Fathers and sons hoisted the heavy ends of the trunks of the cut trees. Only the children's red tasseled hats were visible, bouncing up and down above the smaller branches as they hiked back to the parking area. Each family tied their tree to the top of their car. As they drove away, they waved goodbye to the Martins, who were still searching for their tree.

The winter sun grew lower in the afternoon sky. Mr. and Mrs. Martin, Mike and Miranda still hiked around the rows of trees. They were sure the perfect tree would be found just over the next row.

Mr. Martin was becoming inpatient as he waited for a tree to be chosen.

"I'm cold", complained Mike.

"I tired and very hungry", whined Miranda.

But Mrs. Martin kept returning to the Scotch pine with two tips. She could not stop thinking about Old Scotty.

"I would like this tree," she said.

"Why?" asked Mike.

"It's funny looking," said Miranda.

"This tree suffered and survived," said Mrs. Martin. "It could have given up and died. Year after year its been scorned, unwanted, and lonely as its neighbors were chosen. Old Scotty is the most noble tree on the farm."

"Oh," said Mike. "I never thought about it that way."

"Do you think trees have feelings, Mom?" asked Miranda.

"How would you feel," said Mrs. Martin, "if no one like you because you were not perfect?"

Mr. Martin, with Mike's help, carefully cut the Scotch pine and tied it to the top of their car. The tree farmer said goodbye, but with both a sad and happy last look at Old Scotty.

As they drove back to the city, Mike and Miranda chattered in the back seat about how they would put two golden stars on top of their perfect Christmas tree.

"No one else will have a tree named Old Scotty with two stars," said Miranda. "Aren't we lucky?"

Back at the Christmas tree farm, the old apple tree spread its bare branches down to shelter the Scotch pine's stump where new growth of a perfect christmas tree would soon appear to replace its old friend.

SEARCHING FOR PERFECTION
By BumbleBeeBoogie
July 28, 1994

High in the Santa Cruz mountains
rows of young trees,
cultivated red and white firs
and Monterey and Scotch pines,
marched through acres
of christmas tree farm terraces
undulating beneath the chilly mists
of an early December morn.

A lush but odd-shaped Scotch pine,
with two V-shaped tips instead of one,
towered over its neighbors
next to an old mis-shapened apple tree.
Years ago,
a lightening bolt struck the apple tree.
A shattered branch
crashed down on the young Scotch pine,
breaking its tip.
Two new V-shaped tips grew
from its bruised, cleaved trunk.

Year after year,
families ignored the odd-looking Scotch pine
as they passed by.
No one wanted the imperfect tree
and it remained
season after holiday season
protected by the branches
of the old apple tree.

Several families clustered together
as they plodded through the rows,
searching for the perfect christmas tree.
Children's voices echoed through the terraces,
calling out to their parents,
Look at this tree, I want this one!
They scampered from tree to tree,
joyously beckoning with red-mittened hands.

Family after family chose their tree.
A father showed his son
how to chop three limbs above the ground
to ensure a new tree
would develop from the stump.
A mother explained to her worried daughter
that the tree would grow again,
just like mowed grass.

Fathers hoisted the heavy ends of tree trunks.
Only the children's red tassled hats
were visible, bobbing above the smaller
branches as they hiked back to the parking area.

With each family's treasured tree
tied atop their cars,
they waved goodbye to one remaining family
still unsatisfied in its quest for a tree.

The father, mother, son and daughter
searched like the other families,
not doubting the perfect tree
would be found just over the next terrace.
The father was becoming inpatient
and the children were cold and tired.
But the mother kept returning
to the Scotch pine with two tips,
unwilling to choose another.

I would like this tree, she said.
Puzzled, her children asked why?
This tree suffered and survived, she replied,
when it could have given up and died.
Year after year its been scorned,
unwanted,
and lonely as its neighbors were chosen.
This is the most noble tree on the farm.

The children understood and agreed.
As they cut the Scotch pine
in the late afternoon sun
and began their long drive home,
they already envisioned the
two golden stars that would top
their perfect Christmas tree.

Its long vigil over,
the old apple tree spread its bare branches
down to shelter the Scotch pine's stump
where new growth of a perfect
christmas tree would soon appear
to replace its old friend.