It was the winter of 1983. We were young and poor with two small children to feed and not a lot of money for Christmas. We lived in Connecticut then, off a road in Killingly called Squaw Rock Road. The roads in Connecticut always have such picturesque names. I didn’t know it then, having lived there all my life, I kind of took it for granted. Once I moved out west, however, with their longitude and latitude street addresses of 1625 East 2550 North, I really started to appreciate the color and flavor of the street names in New England.
We needed a Christmas tree for our small family, but with little money to buy one, we weren’t sure what to do. In our family we always had a live tree and going out to hunt for one in a snow covered field always made the experience special. Back then there were numerous tree farms where one could pay $10 to $15 for just such a chance. But even that small amount of money seemed impossible this year, yet with hope against hope we piled into our old yellow van and headed out for a drive to see what we could see.
The day was gray and overcast. Tatters of clouds drifted over the sky. I don’t know what prompted us to head towards Willimantic, but we did. The roads of New England wind up and down and around hills. Around each new corner another picturesque scene is revealed. Though the scenes may have a similar New England flavor, they are never the same. The topography of the land prohibits repetition. So, while one old white farm house may set on a hill with a red barn nearby, the next one down the road will be slightly different, with a varied arrangement to the house and barn, perhaps with different trees or a stone wall defining the driveway, or cows in nearby pasture, grazing on winter brown grass.
Today the air had the edge of ice in it as we drove past a bog on the right. Across the road a pasture widened out and beyond it a small farm house sat on a knoll. At the far edge of the pasture a wide ribbon of evergreen caught our eyes. We slowed the van, then pulled off the road and opened the doors. Though this was not a Christmas Tree Farm, a stand of white pines of just the right size called to us from across the snow covered field. We wondered if the farmer would let us cut just one to bring home as our Christmas tree. A door opened on the farm house and a man walked out. We jumped back into the van and drove forward, pulling into the driveway. Gus hopped out and held a brief conversation with the farmer. I saw him offer the man the few dollars that we had, then I saw the farmer shake his head, declining the proffered money. With the farmer’s approval we drove our vehicle just a short way back towards the trees, pulled as far off the road as we could, and got out.
Now it may seem strange that we came equipped with our own saw, but back in those days it was not unusual for people to cut down small evergreens or even cedar trees from pasture land for Christmas trees. My own grandfather used to own a farm in Colchester where we often cut a cedar tree for our Christmas tree. While they smell delightful in the house, filling the rooms with their cedar perfume, they are awfully painful to decorate as each tiny flat needled end is covered in stiff hairy spines. You paid for the fragrance with blood. Now we stood at the edge of the field with our goal in sight.
The smoky gray clouds drifted overhead and I heard the honking of Canadian geese calling from beyond the clouds. The wild call stirred something inside me, a prevalent longing for something else. I wanted to mount on wings myself and fly away to someplace wild with the flock. The clouds briefly parted revealing the black, gray and white arrow formation flying through the leaden skies. Just then a snow flurry passed over making the air sparkle with wonder.
We trudged across the snow covered grasses towards the evergreen edge. The trees were much larger than they looked from the road, and now the challenge became finding one small enough to fit in the van and the house. The long flexible limbs of the white pines brushed against us as we finally choose our tree. Gus lay down in the snow to get at the trunk and sawed through in short order. As the saw broke through the tender flesh the scent of pine and sawdust filled the silver air.
Though the tree was bulky, it was also lightweight. We dragged it to the van, opened up the back, and pulled it inside. Our two young boys giggled with delight as the tree filled the interior of the van. This tree would fill our living room with its four foot girth of bows. I’d be hard pressed to find enough ornaments to cover the branches, but that mattered little now, for the tree had already produced the best gift of all, the memory of finding it in a snow covered pasture, the kindness of the farmer who let us cut it down, and the wild geese flying overhead serenading the season in wild tones.
Merry Christmas!
Blogger's Note: The painting is a detail of Christmas in the Mouse House by Kathie. See the complete painting with poem here.
Sign Seen in Flagstaff, AZ 12-14-08 by Kathiesbirds
Just Click and go!
Gandy Dancer Sculpture by Clyde "Ross" Morgan October 21, 2000
We get off the highway and cross over the interstate to the north-bound on-ramp. As we do, the panorama of the San Francisco Peaks comes into view bathed in the soft light of dawn. My panic subsides with the beauty before me. We would have missed this if we had not missed our turn. A soft gray cloud hovers over snow-capped Humphrey's Peak, the highest point in Arizona with an elevation of 12,633 feet.
We are soon back at our hotel as the morning clouds blush in the first light of day. We grab some breakfast in the lobby and head up to our room. I read for a bit as Gus drifts off to sleep. All the while the birding itch grows more intense. Finally, I can stand it no longer. I bundle up and head outside to see what birds I can find around the parking lot.
Amtrak Train or the Polar Express? 12-14-08 by Kathiesbirds
( Click to continue your Skywatch Christmas tour!)
Old Pueblo Grille, Tucson, AZ 12-11-08 by Kathie
...then wandered through sun dappled paths to visit Butterfly Magic, a display hosted every year during the cooler months and contained within a small green house where one can wander freely among the fluttering butterflies. After spending almost an hour inside we are examined by a volunteer for hitchhikers before exiting through a small room with a mirror where we re-examine ourselves to make sure no butterflies escape. Once outside the warm winter sun greets us and Mom finds a cool spot in the shade of a Ramada to rest. Nearby a fountain trickles and a pyrrhuloxia flies in for a drink.
We wander down the garden paths past this blooming agave. Mom stands nearby to give perspective to the height and squints in the bright afternoon sun.
We wander farther into the garden past various cacti and desert plants. Where we find a saguaro entangled with a mesquite tree as if the two were one.
Most saguaros grow in the shade of a nurse tree and it takes over 60 years before they even start to form "arms." By then the nurse tree is often dead, but this saguaro and its mesquite nurse have grown together in a tangle, as if leaning on each other for strength. It seems it would be difficult to separate them now after all these years.
As with most gardens, the birds find shelter in this small acreage of greenery in the center of a busy city. While most broad-billed hummingbirds have flown south for the winter, this little fellow is lingering here at the far end of the garden in deep shade.
Meanwhile, Mom has found some fiberglass friends to be photographed with. It is well past lunch time, so we head out of the garden...
A Komodo dragon sculpture bids us good-bye as we walk to our car and we drive the short distance south on Alvernon Way to the Old Pueblo Grille for lunch. 
The Old Pueblo Grille is a favorite place of mine to dine in Tucson. It's local offerings are affordable and the atmosphere is perfect for that southwest experience. Since the weather is so nice we decide to dine on the patio under an orange tree ripe with fruit. The stucco walls, various palms and numerous fountains drown out the sounds of the busy traffic rushing by.
For us all is peace and beauty as we await the delivery of our delicious meals. Mom has southwest pot roast of tender spicy meat. I choose a combo plate of chicken enchiladas and beef machaca, a new experience for me. All is delicious but we want to save room for the tempting desert offerings. We each ate about half our meals, then boxed them up to bring home. 
And who can blame us with Irish Cream Creme Brulee and Double Chocolate Obsession Mousse Cake for desert! I had the creme brulee while Mom had the Chocolate Obsession. Though I love chocolate, I usually don't go for something like that, but after a bite of Mom's I was hooked. Her serving was so large we brought half of it home, then shared it later on!
As we leave The Old Pueblo Grille the bougainvillea blooming everywhere catches our attention as it climbs the stucco walls...
...and reaches for the sky with scarlet paper petals. You gotta love a place with flowers in winter. It is a perfect end to one of Mom's last days in Tucson. On Friday we stayed home and prepared for the long journey to Flagstaff, where she will catch the train home.
Though they look like Christmas tree ornaments, these are the chrysalises in the emergence room at Tucson Botanical Gardens. My Mother loves Butterflies, so when she learned that Butterfly Magic is going on right now we made our plans to visit. 
Butterfly magic runs from Nov 1, 2008 through March 2009. The butterflies of Australia are on display for the month of December. We pay our admission fee and walk through shady paths to the greenhouse where the butterflies fly free.
A volunteer at the doorway explains the rules to us before we enter the building. She tells us the butterflies may land on us but we are not to chase them or to touch them. We are warned to watch out for butterflies landing on the paths and if we see one, to tell a volunteer, so it can be removed before it gets stepped on. Then she opens the first door and closes it tightly before letting us in through a shredded plastic curtain that helps to keep butterflies safely inside the moist warmth of their temporary home.
As soon as we enter the small building we see butterflies. I hurry to start snapping photos, then realize I will have to wait for my camera to adjust to the temperature and humidity as the lens and eyepiece fog up. I wipe frantically and try to focus but it would have been better just to wait it out, for it does no good. Finally I can see and I snap off several pictures of this beautiful Peacock Swallowtail.
Then a Paper Kite lands nearby revealing the startling beauty of its simple black and white pattern.
This is a blue morpho with folded wings.
Here is one with its wings fluttering open. They never stay still so the photo is a bit blurry.
In the next frame the wings are closed again, but you can still see a hint of the blue for which they are named.
2. Cattleheart from Central or South America
3. Ruby-spotted Swallowtail from Central or South America
4. Blue Clipper
5. Crimsom Rose
6. Owl spot
7. Owl Spot open
8. Chocolate Pansy from Malaysia 
9. (possible)Lurcher from Australia
11. Helena Birdwing from Malaysia
12. Cruiser from Malaysia
13. Common Tiger from Malasia
14. Malachite from Florida and/or Central/South America
15.Sara Longwing from Central/South America
