Editor’s Note: The following was originally published on December 27, 2021.
“Recollections of a Pittsfield kid” is a series of vignettes exploring the author’s youthful days in the Osceola Park neighborhood of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, during the 1950s and early 1960s. At the time of these adventures, the author was between seven and 12 years old.
When I was growing up, I lived with my parents, two brothers, one sister and one dog, Lady, in a modest two-story colonial home in West Pittsfield. My back yard was adjacent to the nine-acre nirvana called Osceola Park. Among other Park features, there was a great patch of evergreens growing at the top of the hill behind the ski tow.
Looking north from my kitchen window, I could see many of these snow-covered evergreens glowing brightly under the Park’s winter night lights. It was a sight to behold. I would often think how these trees would make perfect Christmas trees because of their symmetrical shape and distinctive scent.
One mid-December day, when I was about 10 years old, I announced to my family that I would take a saw and cut down one of these beautiful trees to bring home as a Christmas present. I explained to them that an integral part of Osceola Park would soon enhance our holiday spirit. This tree would look even more attractive once our Christmas lights, tinsel, and other decorations were placed upon it.
My parents explained to me that, even though Osceola Park abutted our property, I didn’t have the right to cut any trees down — even if it was to be a Christmas gift. In my mind, the Park and I were one; I didn’t quite understand why I shouldn’t do this and I was really disappointed. I surmised that our family would get an ordinary Christmas tree someplace else. Life then went on for a few days more.
During this time, I had an afternoon paper route for The Berkshire Eagle and I managed to save up a fair amount of money as a result. I would eventually spend it on delicacies such as candy, gum, soda, and comic books at our friendly neighborhood convenience store.
Knowing that I couldn’t obtain an Osceola Park evergreen tree for Christmas, it dawned on me that the store was selling fresh-cut trees for the first time ever. I thought that if I bought our family a Christmas tree there, there would at least be a semblance of a connection to Osceola Park since the store was so close to it.
Without hesitation, I marched upstairs to my bedroom and my personal bank, which consisted of a pile of one-dollar greenbacks stuffed under my mattress. This bank account didn’t earn compound interest, but it was available to me 24/7. I carefully counted the money and was surprised that it amounted to $12.
I put on my winter coat and boots, and quickly walked to the store with Lady; we were intent on making a grand purchase that day. However, I was concerned that the tree choices would be limited and that I might get stuck buying a poorly formed, unattractive tree.
When I got there, I was greeted by the gregarious owners. We knew each other well and they supposed I’d come to purchase my usual gastric treasures. I surprised them by saying, “Today is different, because I am shopping for your best seven-foot-high Christmas tree.” I announced that I had 12 bucks to spend and was prepared to use it all. I would drag it home that very afternoon, I gloated.
As I looked around for a magnificent Christmas tree, one caught my eye immediately. It was a balsam fir that was tall and narrow with barrel-shaped, greenish-brown pinecones. The tree needles were flat, shiny, and dark green. I told them this was indeed a tree without equal. Not knowing or even caring how expensive this beauty would be, I handed over my $12. I thought I might use the change to buy a few snacks.
The shop owner looked at me forlornly, told me I didn’t have nearly enough, and that I should make another selection. He said the price of this glorious evergreen was $20 and that he was actually hoping to bring it to his house if it didn’t sell. He explained that the tree reminded him of the cedars native to his homeland.
I was deflated and told him that this was all the money I had to offer. He listened and became quiet, as if pondering something. In a short time, he developed a twinkle in his eye and a slight grin came to his face.
He remembered how, that very summer, a rag-tag crew and I dragged a mess of recently cut willow tree branches from his store parking lot. We hauled them away because I loved all trees and was planning to replant those specimens in my yard. We did this hot, dusty work for him at no charge. He said that, to be fair, he should have paid me to move this tree debris and that he really owed me $8 for the effort. Furthermore, he noted that due to our labors, he now had room outside to display and sell Christmas trees.
Combined with the $12 I had given him, this meant I now had enough to afford that exceptional balsam tree. What’s more, he went to his nearby house and brought me a Christmas gift — a handmade ornament in the shape of a cedar tree. We were now simpatico and shook hands as newly realized business partners. My good endeavor that summer fostered his good deed for me in December.
Lady hurried excitedly along as I proudly paraded my prize to its new home. To this day, I still remember the convenience store owner’s benevolent smile and appreciate his ornament glistening on our Christmas tree that Yuletide season.
