Christmas Tree

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I went to a great high school run by Benedictine monks. It is about 50 miles south of my temporary trailer park now, in Illinois.

Last Sunday, I drove to the abbey, which has a Christmas tree farm. I picked out a nice tree, cut it with my DeWalt sawsall (which was definitely overkill!), and threw it in the back of the truck. Tie downs? We don’ need no stinkin’ tie downs!

Then I spent about 45 minutes visiting with Father Andrew, my Latin teacher from about 43 years ago, the present head tree farmer and one of the kindest men I have ever met. He taught me to drive a farm tractor back then, to mow the acres of lawn. He let me help build a baseball field backstop, plant trees, and learn some things about farming and growing things.

Unlike me, he is getting older (!), so I’m glad we could talk a while. He told me that two other prominent teachers from my time, Father Martin and Father Luke, are not doing well and will probably die next year. So, I will make another trip soon to see them off.

Meanwhile, I got a nice tree and I paid them more than they asked (as usual). Since everything in the trailer has a place, and trees are not assigned a place, I set it up outside.

Lacy thinks it’s nice, but she worried that opening presents on Christmas morning might be a tad chilly. No problem, I told her; we’re going to my Aunt’s for Christmas Eve!