THREE TREES
(Bob Rose)
This is the story of three Christmas trees that live on in memory within
a man who worked a drop-in for half of his life. If you don’t know what
a drop-in is, let’s just say its a safe social space for poor people,
isolated people and anyone else needing someone to talk to, or simply be
with. Drop-ins respond to the loneliness carried in the storms of
poverty; like hunger, homelessness, personal crisis, or the turmoil of
despair, loss and grief. A good drop-in is a place where people support
each other, to survive these storms through the sharing of personal
experience and welcoming the personal stories which always accompany them.
If you work in a drop-in you must learn how to apply a couple of
grounding principles. The first is to how to communicate “You are
welcome”- with and without words. The second is to see, hear and create
opportunities for people to move from isolation into connection with
others. The last is aptitude for making discovery; of the paths to
connection, which varies from person to person but comes together in
community. Drop-ins are all about building that feeling of belonging
which is essential to healing.
I remember a veteran member describing this journey to me one day. He
said, “You, know, before I came here, I was so alone that I had nobody
in my life except my dancing partner. I called her my dark princess. She
came to visit me every day, and we danced the most painful dances you
can imagine. But then, the day arrived when she said to me, ‘I am never
going to let you go’. So, I ran away, from my home to the streets and to
places where I hoped she would not find me. I tell you my boy, she had
become the devil. I remember she was wearing a blue dress and out to
kill me. But then I found this place and I stopped running. You folks
helped me stop running and feel safe again. You listened to my ideas and
invited me to contribute to this place. That is what saved my life.”
Over the years I would talk to younger staff about these principles and
pathways. Inevitably I would share. “This is the compass I suggest you
use to become a good drop-in worker. If you don’t understand the words
or if there are no words, but only silence, listen to the tune. Listen
and be kind. Be curious. Expect the unfamiliar or unrecognizable.
Explore them. And then keep going.
But I digress. This is not the story. It is only the frame within which
the story of three trees lives on. It took place on a cold December day,
as we began to take up
preparations for our annual Solstice Celebration Party. This was, to put
it mildly, a unique event, with staff working 24 continuous hours to
host a great coming together of the drop-in community on the longest
night of the year. Like many things, it was based on members’ response
to the question, “What do you want to do in the holiday season?” The
answer was, “Why don’t we stay open all day and all night and see what
happens?” I asked, “What night would that be?” The answer was dead
serious. “The longest night.”
It felt like a wild and crazy idea. Without realizing it we were
challenging the longest night with the longest period of darkness by
keeping our doors open and filling our space with light and life, food
and dancing and surprise events run by various members, from dawn to
dawn in tune with the risings of the sun. That experience was so rich it
became a tradition, that was renewed every year. What made it so
special, apart from being the best party in the neighborhood, was
something we had not anticipated. The Solstice took a lot of the sting
out of Christmas; with its various humiliations like separation from
family and gift giving prevented by poverty. When the Solstice
celebration arrived, it softened the worry people felt as they got
closer and closer to Christmas Day, because everyone knew there was
nothing which could beat the all day and night celebration coming before
Christmas arrived. In keeping with this change, the three trees we had
traditionally used to mark Christmas period now became the symbols of
our upcoming Solstice Party. They were the same kind of trees, but they
meant something very different now So, on this one day, in a year I
cannot remember, we went out to get our trees. There was fresh snow on
the ground and more falling softly, in big billowing, feathery flakes.
It was the perfect day for tree finding. As was my custom, with my tie
ropes in hand I walked out into the drop-in to ask if there were three
members who wanted to come with me to get our three trees. In an instant
I had a group of folks standing by my side.
There was Wilfrid, a lovely man. He was deeply respected in our
community for the support he gave to others and his readiness to help
out whenever or wherever this was needed. There was John, a member
artist. When he first began visiting the drop-in, he kept getting into
verbal fights with everyone. But he loved to draw, and it seemed to help
him calm down, so we gave him his own table and drawing materials. He
drew for a year and observed the space. When the first year passed he
began to talk without yelling and losing control. And then there was
Sheri. I had met her some years before, during her early chaotic visits
with us. She acquired a certain degree of notoriety at that time because
she would show up every day in bare feet
asking for a new pair of shoes. We gave her replacements until we
eventually discovered what was in the shoes she tossed away. Then things
changed for the better. Sheri moved past that milestone. Now we were
gathering Solstice trees together.
When we arrived at the Christmas tree lot, it was mid-afternoon on a
weekday. As I anticipated, it was the perfect time for our
investigations. Nobody was about. We were the only buyers at that time
and it was a beautiful snowy day to boot. I could feel it in my bones.
This year’s tree gathering was already becoming precious. We headed
towards the tree lot shack and as we walked, I called out to its owner.
“Hey Lou, how are you doing. It’s me and my crew, your favourite
customers. We have come for our trees.”
There was rustling noise inside the shack and a big, giant of a man
appeared in its doorway. He was wearing layered clothing: heavy work
pants covered in sap stains, an old, faded flannel shirt complimented by
two or three sister shirts, and his work gloves. An old, tattered
overcoat flapped open as he shambled down the 3 steps from shack to
ground. He dressed like this every year and every year he seemed to get
bigger.
‘Hey there my friend! How are ya? How is your drop-in doing? He reached
out his hand to shake mine, and then the hand of each person I had
brought with me. He was smiling. It’s good to see you my friend. Good to
see you all! Tell me, what news do you bring?”
We did this every year. There was no buying until I had shared a few
amusing anecdotes with him and he gave me back just as good as he got,
telling me about a summer adventure, or giving an update on his trade or
family. He always mentioned the quality of his stock every year too (it
was always excellent)! His trees were selling well. He seemed to be a
happy man. And I said (because it was true) that I continued to tell
everyone I knew that he sold the best Christmas trees they would ever
buy. That is why I had been finding trees with him, for so many years.
He looked around at the group and then turned to me “So, my friend, will
it be the same order as last year?”
I said, “Yeah Lou, you know exactly what we want. The largest tree we
can find for the main drop-in space. It’s for dancing. A medium sized
tree is for the second
floor’s quiet area. It’s for talking. And the last, the small tree,
goes into the smoking room - where I will decorate it with cigarettes
from time to time - before we open. You know that makes for a smooth
opening. But it also represents our ability to convert vast clouds of
smoke into community development activity.” Lou laughed. He asked the
same question every year and I gave him the same answer. He said, “Ok
then, let’s go!
I looked at the drop-in members and smiled. I said to them, “Ok let’s
go!” Lou escorted us to the trees he knew we wanted. We began our search
for the biggest tree in the lot. I gave my team their work gloves and
they took up their roles, helping Lou pull out a three large trees for
us to take a look at.
The snow continued to fall, making every tree look more beautiful. Lou
showed everyone how to give each tree a good shaking so that we could
fully see its shape and branching. Then he told them to turn the tree
around in a circle so we could view all of it, from front to back. As my
group did the holding and turning of the trees, I listened to their
discussion of their greater or lesser reasons for selection. They were
doing what I had asked them to do, negotiating their way to a consensus
on what tree would be chosen. Once this process was completed the
selected tree was carried to the empty space in the middle of the lot,
making ready for the trunk cutting and delivery on to the roof of my
car.
We moved around the lot, slow dancing with the trees and the falling
snow. There was no rush. There were no other customers and we had Lou’s
full attention. It took a bit more time to choose the medium size tree,
perhaps because it was less spectacular than the big one. Or perhaps it
was because my group was really beginning to enjoy searching through the
trees, pulling them out, shaking them down and building their tree
selection expertise.
Finally, we reached the end of this little adventure, coming to the
place where the smallest trees were stored. My team kept pulling trees
out and putting them back. It seemed odd, but they were having the
hardest time choosing this last tree. They looked at eight, until
finally they pulled one out from its brothers and sisters which they all
agreed on. That was the moment I thought I heard the sound of singing
as we placed it with our other chosen trees. A strange thought came into
my mind – that we were choosing the father, mother and child of a tree
family, and somehow, unconsciously, were re-uniting them – and they were
singing.
The members of the team stepped forward and with Lou’s help raised each
of them again to their full height, standing them beside each other in a
row that went from the tallest to the smallest. I heard someone on the
team sing out. “Wow, they are so beautiful! It is going to be a great
Solstice this year.”
Lou said, “Good trees folks.”
We lay the three trees down on the ground for cutting them, and then we
waited because no one made a move after that. We just stood there,
looking down at our trees, admiring them in silence, as the snow
continued to fall. It felt like a dream. I looked at the faces of the
people who had come with me on this day. They looked younger, as if in
this moment, they had become clear of the worry and apprehension that
was such a normal part of their daily life. I looked up at the sky. It
had not changed. The falling snow was still coming down but the flakes
had grown bigger.
Then I heard Lou speak again in a loud and generous voice. “Hey there folks, would you all like a cigar?”
Now this was new. It had never happened before, in all of my years of
Christmas tree buying. I looked at him with surprise and he repeated the
offer with a big smile on his face. He was apparently in the same
moment as the rest of us.
I looked at my group to ask them what they wanted to do, but their
answer came without any spoken words. They were nodding their heads up
and down, up and down.
I looked at Lou and nodded too. Then I said, “Ok, let’s go, let’s do
it!” Lou turned around and called out to his helper. “Hey Joe. Bring
some cigars out here. We need five. Oh, and bring one for yourself too.”
Joe stepped out of the shack’s door way and called back, “Sure thing
boss, be right there.” And then he was right there. He disappeared back
into the shack came out again and with a leap down the stairs ran over
to join us, his right hand full of cigars.
Lou took the cigars, prepped them and handed them out to everyone in our
now expanded group. He pulled a large box of matches and moved around
our circle lighting everyone’s cigar. When all the cigars were fired,
the puffing and exhaling began. No words were spoken except “Thank you”
And then we all just stood there, taking deep draws on the cigars and
surrounding ourselves in smoke.
I thought, ‘I guess Lou must know my drop-in is the smoking capital of
the universe. And that now, with these cigars, we are at the centre of
that universe.’
I stood there smoking and observing the surprise and happiness I saw in
my group of tree finders standing in the middle of a Christmas tree lot
and being covered by the falling snow. We just stood there, smoking and
feeling the unusual sensation of this moment. It felt like everyone had
entered into a sacred space that could only be sustained with silence.
Then Lou spoke again. “Hey folks! Would you all like a drink?”
I didn’t need to look at my group to know their answer. I knew they were nodding again.
Our entry into the shack was noisy with the sound of boots stomping and
the rustle of bodies shaking snow off feet, coats and heads. I had been
inside the shack before on my own tree gathering visits. So, what I saw
now was familiar. There was the same plywood walls and exposed framing.
There was the same copious collection of empty rum bottles, displayed on
the two by fours holding the shack together. I smiled again, as I
always did, when I saw this secret refreshment, used by old Christmas
Tree sellers, to keep themselves warm though the long days and nights of
the selling season.
In the centre of the shack there was a small, low to the ground, table
made of plywood and milk crates. Around the table there were more milk
crates. This was where you sat down to celebrate your purchase if you
were the right customer at the right time.
The members hustled to their crates. I took a seat next to Lou while he
got out the rum and small paper dixie cups he used to serve his guests.
Lou poured a round for all. I looked about me, at this odd group of
misfits; for all of us were bent in one way or the other. Then I looked
up at the ceiling and I could see that it was disappearing in the cigar
smoke fuming up and up into the rafters.
We remained as we had been outside. We were silent, concentrating on the
cigars, the rum, and the sensations of warmth being felt in our minds
and in our bodies. I noticed how we were all bending low as we picked up
our rum and smoked the cigars. And how everybody in that room seemed to
be sitting so peacefully within this unexpected sequence of experiences
unfolding in our search for three trees.
Then Lou broke the silence. He held his dixie cup high and called out…
“Hey, who here wants another drink?” A unanimous “I do” broke the
silence. So, Lou poured another round. I had a sip and leaned in close
to him. I said, “Lou, tell me, in all your years in the Christmas Tree
trade, how many trees do you think you have sold?”
Lou turned to face me with an expression that suggested nobody had ever
asked this question. Now I knew he had at least two large lots, maybe
more - and had been doing this for at least 25 years. But I was shocked
when he made his response. “Well, let me think for a moment.” And he
did. I watched him furrow his brow as he began counting the numbers in
his mind. Then he gave his answer. “Well, my friend, you know, counting
the years and the trade that has been good to me I expect I have sold
more than 60,000 trees!”
I was stunned. I looked back at him and said, “Holy mother of god, Lou.
That is a whole forest of trees!” Then I looked my tree finding circle.
They were holding their cups in front of them as if their arms had been
frozen in mid -air. They were all staring at Lou, and I speculated the
were all wondering, who is this man? Lou’s response was unforgettable.
“Yes, that’s true, but you know they are farmed. Still, it is something
to imagine myself walking through a field with 60,000 trees. That might
be quite the hike.
I said, “Let’s drink to that. That’s one hell of a hike.” We drank and
puffed on our cigars in silence for a minute or so and Lou spoke again.
“You know my friend, now that I think of it, something else comes into
my mind. Let me tell you something.” He paused for a second to sip some
rum and take a few puffs on his cigar. I could see him thinking.
“You know I get all kinds of people coming to my tree lots. There are
the rich people. I can tell they’re rich because they head for the
biggest trees and they don’t spend any time looking at them. They just
grab the biggest tree I have, buy it and leave with hardly a word or
thank you spoken. Then I get the folks coming who have some money to
spend, but not enough for the big ones. Those folks spend some time with
their choosing, asking us to pull out maybe three or four or even 6
trees to look at. They look like they are trying to get the best bang
for their buck. Middle money I would say. Then, there are folks coming
for the smaller trees. A lot of younger people there. Or folks who are
living alone. They have a good look too.
But not for the same reasons. Sometimes it seems that the buying of a
tree is the last stage in a debate they have been having with themselves
on whether to get a tree or pass on the idea.”
Then he paused, like he had something else to say but was wondering
whether to say it or not. I waited. I was sure he was going to tell us
something more.
“And then I have another group of people who come in here. You know my
friend, they are poor. You know how I can tell they are poor? I know it
because of the way they behave in my lot. They spend a lot of time here.
Far more than anybody else. They look at and touch all of the trees,
from big to small. And then when I ask them if they have found something
like, they tell me they love them all but are just looking, because
they have no money at all to spend on Christmas trees.” Lou leaned down
low to the table and picked up his dixie cup of rum again. He leaned
back from his milk crate, took a big drag on this cigar and turned to me
to ask, “So you know what I do?”
I said, “No, what do you do?”
Lou laughed. Not a shallow laugh, but a deep belly, full throated laugh.
The kind of laugh you don’t share with strangers because it is as
personal as a hug or a kiss. And Lou said, “I’ll tell you what I do. I
give them a tree. Yes sir. I probably give thirty trees away every
year!’
Lou paused for a few seconds and spoke again. “You know why I do that?”
He was looking at me as closely as I was looking at him. I glanced over
at my crew and saw that they were still listening too.
Lou raised his dixie cup, took a big drag on his cigar, and blew its
smoke all over us. And then he softly spoke, “I will tell you why! “What
the hell………it’s Christmas….…….isn’t it?”
With that said, he extended his dixie cup out into the space that was
now joining us all together and called us to action, “Cheers all”. Then,
in perfect time, we downed our rum in unison.
I smiled. And then I sighed inwardly. Thinking, “What a world, what a world, what a world.”