My grandparents' farm in Washburn Maine was about fourteen miles from the town where I grew up in Presque Isle. It was 140 acres of potatoes and forest and potential Christmas trees. The farm had been granted to a distant grandfather as payment for his service in the Civil War. He'd been shot in the toe at Gettysburg. Every December, my father would drive me over and he and I would walk through the woods with a chainsaw in search of the perfect family Christmas tree. There'd always be a few feet of snow by then, the work would be hard, and we would pass by the stumps of trees taken in previous years. Eyeing each tree we past, like we're looking for the next victim. Our visits must have been horrifying for the trees.

My father would finally choose a tree and cut it down, usually cutting off the top half where the tree looked the like it would show the best in the living room. We would then drag it a mile through the snow, tie it to the roof of the car and drive it back home to Presque Isle, leaving a fourteen mile trail of needles all the way back to the scene of the crime.

At home we'd fight the tree through the door--- most parking lot trees come bundled so you can get them through doorways and around corners, but not our eight foot unbundled behemoths. By the time we got it up in the stand, it would look like a different tree than the one we found in the woods.

It would've lost a lot of needles and branches along the way.

And be slanted in the base. Standing at a half drunk angle in the corner of the living room.

My father would then put a nail in the wall and with a wire around the tree, he would attach the tree to the wall and tighten the wire until it the fir was upright. Then he'd put a nail in the other wall and do the same thing. He stand back proud. The tree would never fall on the family, and the whole process seemed to blur Christmas Season with just a touch of Easter, though no one dared mention it.

Then he'd stand back and look at the tree, measuring its fullness and blank spots. He'd then take a drill and put holes up along the trunk and then jab extra branches into those holes to fill in the blank spots. Like hairplugs with Hair Club for Men members.

In the end, the secured upright Christmas tree was a bit of a Frankenstein creation. Especially after the gobs of tinsel and hand made ornaments and bobbles the five kids would hoist upon it. But it was a process we all shared in wrought with travel, ingenuity, creativity, cruelty and love.

And why buy an artificial tree when you can make one yourself at home?

I've included a video song I wrote with my friend, Kristian Bush called "The Last Tree"... it's about the last tree in the Christmas Tree lot and goes out to all the people selling trees on those cold D center evenings. Check it out here.


News! I am in New England often this month-- come out, buy Christmas gifts! Shows in Scituate and Franklin MA, Vermont, Philadelphia, Portsmouth, New York, my 10th annual holiday show in Portland ME, and my 25th annual New Years shows in Cambridge, MA.

The Cruise!
The final day before the price surge on my cruise to the Caribbean with Radislov Lorkovic is Dec 6th!
The cruise runs from Feb 20-25 from Tampa to Cozumel to the Grand Cayman Island. Island Jaunts, evening shows, and workshops during the days. It should be a phenomal vacation!

Store Holiday Sales!
I have posters of various kinds, cds of music, and books for sale in the store at my webstore!

For webstore click here & for posters click here.

Hope you stop by!

I will check in one more time before the holidays-- hope you have a wonderful time with friends and loved ones--- thanks for all the support---

Cheers!
Ellis