The shack in the woods, covered with vines, hadn't seen a living soul in decades until today. It sat nestled in a valley surrounded by Christmas trees, most planted years ago by his grandfather, who built the shack after his wife passed at an early age, and others were gifts from above as pinecones fell from the sky onto the forest floor. Over the years, as the trees grew and needed thinning, he had the idea of hauling fresh-cut trees, mostly pines, down the valley road to a crude roadside stand he would build a couple of weeks before Christmas.
People began showing up, mostly on the weekends, city folks stopping at the crude stand with a sign he made and hung from the stand simply saying Christmas trees, written in green paint left over from when he painted their house that has sat vacant since her death, and he built the valley shack where he would live until he joined her high into the sky where stars shone, and the moon guided him to wherever she may be.
He lived a simple life in the valley, tending to the trees, always saying a few words as he bent down to replace the trees he'd taken with saplings that, over time, would grow into trees of many shapes and sizes. In the days leading up to the start of his busy season, he'd make wreaths from the droppings of branches, each a little different than the others, some decorated with red ribbon he found in her sewing basket he had brought with him to the shack, never knowing when something would need mending.
He lived out his days in the valley, a man at peace with clear memories and a heart that never really healed. He spoke to his trees, and they answered as the winds whistled through the branches, thanking him for caring for a place he loved so dearly. Today the roadside stand is just a pile of wood scattered about, and the shack in which he lived, a reminder of a man who carved wooden animals, mostly reindeer, he'd give to the children when a smile on their faces was all the payment he required.
It gave me chills to see two large branches draped across the roof like they were protecting him, or maybe hiding him from anyone who wanted to take him out of the valley. But I scattered his remains throughout the place he called home. I made my way back to the road, where, looking down, there was an old and weathered sign with the words " Christmas trees painted with faded green letters. As I began to leave, a sudden burst of wind touched my face, and I knew it was him saying goodbye and thanking me for bringing him home to his valley of trees.
He lived a simple life in the valley, tending to the trees, always saying a few words as he bent down to replace the trees he'd taken with saplings that, over time, would grow into trees of many shapes and sizes. In the days leading up to the start of his busy season, he'd make wreaths from the droppings of branches, each a little different than the others, some decorated with red ribbon he found in her sewing basket he had brought with him to the shack, never knowing when something would need mending.
He lived out his days in the valley, a man at peace with clear memories and a heart that never really healed. He spoke to his trees, and they answered as the winds whistled through the branches, thanking him for caring for a place he loved so dearly. Today the roadside stand is just a pile of wood scattered about, and the shack in which he lived, a reminder of a man who carved wooden animals, mostly reindeer, he'd give to the children when a smile on their faces was all the payment he required.
It gave me chills to see two large branches draped across the roof like they were protecting him, or maybe hiding him from anyone who wanted to take him out of the valley. But I scattered his remains throughout the place he called home. I made my way back to the road, where, looking down, there was an old and weathered sign with the words " Christmas trees painted with faded green letters. As I began to leave, a sudden burst of wind touched my face, and I knew it was him saying goodbye and thanking me for bringing him home to his valley of trees.
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
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