Each winter, when my brothers' and I were kids, we traveled to my great-grandparent's farm in a small community about an hour away from home. I always hated the trip there because I am not a good traveler.
My great- grandpa would load us up in his pick-up and take us to a neighboring relatives property to find a tree. My brothers brought their wooden guns to shoot any bears they might encounter and they always discussed the ghosts that more than likely lived in the dilapidated building on the property.
We walked forever until we found the perfect trees to cut, load up and bring home.
Christmas was always a magical time. On Christmas day, my great-grandparents would come to us to have dinner and tell us stories. My Papo always told the story of the Christmas tree catching fire in the school house when he was a child and my Mamo would recite stories from a book. One year my parents made a tape recording of the stories. I was 11 when my Mamo died and 15 when my Papo died but I will always remember going to pick out the tree.
Now we have artificial trees mainly because of allergies.
What memories do you have of childhood Christmases?