Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, December 19, 1993 TAG: 9312240202
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: William R. Jordan III
DATELINE: RADFORD LENGTH: Medium
Although those times have passed, as have many years, in my mind's eye I can still see a leaden December sky and recall the air, crisp and cold with the distinctive smell of snow in the offing.
It was the kind of day that filled me with excitement because, combined with the holiday season and the possibility of snow, my Dad and I were on our way to cut our Christmas tree.
My Dad was one of many fathers who spent long hours each day working his way out from under the disasters left by the Depression. His responsibilities meant our time together was very limited and, therefore, very dear. Our annual outing for the Christmas tree was the most special time of all.
Old Man Johnson's farm (as my Dad referred to the man and his place) in the Ellett Valley near Blacksburg was our destination. Each year he would let us go up on his mountain and cut any tree we wanted. We may have been the only people who came by during the Christmas season for he seemed to always enjoy our visit.
Mr. Johnson was a large rugged man, toughened by years of hard work and weather. Dressed in a heavy sheepskin coat and high leather boots, he was just the kind of man to fascinate a young boy. He lived alone in two rooms of his large frame home, which sat at the base of a high mountain. The road approaching the house wound through a meadow past a barn and crossed a small creek that meandered through his land. The setting was purely Currier and Ives.
While Dad greeted the old man, I would gather large pine cones and a sack of black walnuts from under the trees in the front yard - pine cones to decorate the fireplace mantle and black walnuts for Mother's special applesauce cakes.
Dad and I would spend a long time climbing and crisscrossing the mountain looking at different trees. The air was heavy with the clean, sweet smell of pine and cedar. Our home on Third Street in Radford had a large bay window and high ceilings typical of homes built in the late 1800s. The tree we looked for had to fill that bay window with a uniform fullness and height since it was visible from the outside as well as inside. Through the process of elimination, we always found the ``perfect'' tree.
After cutting the tree and hauling it off the mountain, we were cold and more than ready to go into the old man's home and sit by the fire for a spell. Dad always brought along a bottle of ``Christmas cheer'' which they shared while they talked. For me, just sitting by the fire listening to them was a treat. Eventually, we would say goodbye and head home in the dusk.
Christmas morning our home was filled with the aroma of the fresh-cut mountain pine in our living room.
I live far away from the Blue Ridge mountains now, but there never comes a Christmas that my mind is not filled with the memories of that annual trip with my Dad.
f\ hvyWilliam R. Jordan III
f\ regMiamio
f\ REG f+iEditor's Note: William R. Jordan III is an executive in the import business in Miami. His parents, Reba and Bill Jordan, live on Third Street in Radford in the family home, which was built by Bill Jordan's father over 100 years ago.
by CNB