Christmas Trees

I had to come in as it got too dark. Not too dark to see where I was going, but too dark to see what I was doing. When you grab and pull what you think is a weed, and it feels more solid and turns out to be one of the Christmas tree seedlings you planted last year, then it’s time to stop. It’s worse when strimming amongst the trees to clear them, and the sudden whiff of orange scent is a sign that you’ve knicked a lower branch of a Grand Fir that you hadn’t noticed.

The Grand Firs are my favourite Christmas tree. Architectural form, soft needles, wonderful scent; they have it all. Strimming has to stop about half an hour before the hand clearance as we can’t risk losing a tree that should be in someone’s home in 5 years’ time.

I wonder from time to time what happens to the ticks in the undergrowth I’m strimming. Are they just thrown aside, or are they too far down towards the soil to be touched? I guess the latter as they’re more or less dormant after the recent frosts. There’s no point standing on a blade of grass waving your legs around hoping for a passing mammal in this weather as all the mice will be curled up in their little nests. That just leaves Rudolf and me as a meal, and I’m suited and booted, so no way in. Rudolf? Well, he’s not affected by Lyme disease, so maybe he doesn’t care.

Stella Huyshe-Shires