courtesy Nicedemus Natl. Hist. Site
Despite stickers embedded in fingers and palms, I don’t want
to give up my beautification project. Nope,
I’m not digging backyard sandburs. I’m
decorating a Prairie Christmas tree. Yep, I’ve gone Laura Ingalls Wilder, and
I’m turning a tumbleweed into a showcase for curling green, gold, and red
ribbons accented by shiny ornaments.
A girlfriend invited me to celebrate an old-fashioned
Christmas at the Nicodemus Township Hall, which included designing a tumbleweed
Christmas tree followed by homemade soup and cookies. How could I turn down that offer?
The catering crew buzzed our senses the moment we walked in
the door. Homemade gingersnaps and peanut butter cookies, old-fashioned peppermint
sticks, fresh-brewed coffee, hot cider, and ham and beans distracted participants
from the mountain of tumbleweeds piled on the stage.
On a table below that heap of well-traveled Russian
thistles, an assortment of colored Christmas ribbon, miniature ornaments—round,
bell, and bulb shaped--tinsel, and cans of powdery snow challenged participants
to fashion something lovely from prickly stems.
Over the years, I’ve read books and magazine articles
touting turning a common prairie invader into an elegant Christmas
decoration. I’ve even visited homes where the artistic
host produced a centerpiece out of these Russian interlopers. While admiring such creativity, I’ve never
tried to craft such holiday magic myself.
That changed Saturday, December 8th.
While many wannabe decorators selected huge orbs, I chose a
lean example that had one main stem with a few straggly protuberances. I couldn’t imagine it doing much serious rolling
over a pasture, even during a big wind. It looked more like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree than an actual
tumbleweed, although I’m certain DNA testing would confirm its origins.
My first challenge was stabilizing its stem in the red Solo
cup provided. Toby Keith had no idea the
real purpose of the RSC was to provide
a stand for a prairie Christmas tree. During that little procedure, at least a
hundred stickers dug their way into my thumbs.
Once I had the “tree” set up, I analyzed it’s festivity
potential. With so few branches, it
seemed best to go with a less is more motif.
While some folks slathered on spray snow, ribbon, ornaments, and tinsel
with grand success, I suspected that would overwhelm my sparse example of
drought-inspired plant life.
Using scissors the park service provided, I curled red,
green, and gold ribbon and tied them one
to a branch. Completing that task, I tied
a mass of eight colorful ribbons to top my straggly collection of spikes. To enhance my design, I added contrasting Christmas ornaments. It was simple, yet elegant. Who says that about a sticker bush?
When I thought I was done, I wasn’t. The weight of the colorful orbs caused it to
tumble to the floor where several glass bulbs shattered. After cleaning up my mess, I re-evaluated and
resorted to western Kansan’s favorite standby—duct tape.
I stabilized that tree with long strips of gray adhesive in
every direction. Of course, those weird
spider webs begged to be hidden. That
drove me to a sack of cotton balls and a bottle of school glue. Yes, my decorating skills now depended upon
techniques perfected in kindergarten. I
glued cotton balls over the duct-tape until it looked like my imprisoned weed
sprouted from a fuzzy snow bank atop a red Solo cup.
What began as a lark became a three hour challenge. I nearly forgot to hit the snack table in my attempt
to turn a straggly stem into something festive.
I question the beauty of my little tree , but the stickers irritating my
hands make surprisingly lovely designs.
courtesy of Nicodemus Historical Society
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