By: Sarah Nilson

First, be married for 70+ years.
Then, choose a Christmas tree,
or compromise on a Christmas tree.
You like the tallest tree; it will fit
nicely. “That tree is too tall. Let’s get
this one. Its branches bulk
delightfully,” your bride says.
On the drive home,
with the tree strapped to the truck,
let the memories flood in
from that first winter in the new home –
with 7 kids, 5 grown and two little,
all helping to put the Christmas tree up.
Let the two oldest untie the trucker’s hitch, holding the tree,
while 2 dark-haired girls run and play in the snow, fascinated with the Bass River.
The air is still salty, but the inside river is sheltered from the wind.
The boys carry the Christmas tree at polar opposite ends,
down the dock, extend an extension cord,
and light the Christmas tree with rainbow bulbs.
Teach the little girls the knots that tie down the tree
and head inside to your bride, who decorated the house
and cooked a ham with probably too much butter for a healthy cholesterol.
After the meal, the sky is dark, and you stand on the porch
to see a lit Christmas tree. 51 years later, it’s about the same,
same house, same boys turned into men carrying the tree,
the girls turned into sailors and world travelers.
Your bride is still cooking with the help of her daughters.
All the hard work unites the family.
And the Christmas tree still stands at the end of the dock.