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End of the line … for Christmas trees

5 min read
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By Dave Bates

For the Observer-Reporter

As I write this article from my study, I am staring up at a deer mount that was arrowed in the 1950s by my friend, Ralph Bell. He harvested the little buck in the same neighborhood in which I hunted grouse nearly a half century later.

A smile creeps over my lips as I sit thinking of him. You see, for some folks, and I dare say more than I could ever have imagined, just how integral a part of their outdoor experience and social calendar was the yearly trip to Ralph Bell’s Christmas Tree Farm in Clarksville. Picking out the family Christmas tree was more than just a yuletide task. It was in many cases the family outing of the year. Thus, it came to me as quite a shock this week when I discovered that, after extensive deer damage, the farm will be closing its doors because of a lack of suitable Christmas trees. I am told it might only be a temporary closure but the announcement is still one of great magnitude.

My wife and I began buying our trees from Mr. Bell when we were married in 1991. Mom and Dad purchased their trees from Ralph shortly after their marriage in 1951. I believe Ralph’s first year in the Christmas tree business was 1956. I can recall Ralph telling me stories of cutting trees and hauling them down to the house and standing them up in the driveway like a traditional Charlie Brown tree lot. He found it easier in later years (and created less waste) if folks just walked the rows and picked a tree for themselves. Christmas trees were initially a way to supplement his egg income during lean times.

You might need to take off your shoes if you’re counting on fingers and toes, but Mr. Bell was born on the family farm on Jan. 27, 1915. Ralph graduated from Penn State University in 1938 with a degree in poultry husbandry. He and his wife, Betty, were married in 1939 and took up residence on the site of their Christmas tree farm. Over the years they raised sheep, chickens and sold Christmas trees together. Since Ralph’s passing in May of 2014 at the age of 99, his grandson, C. David Bell and Ralph’s son, David, have been the purveyors of Christmas trees in Pollack’s Mill.

I have worked a goodly number of jobs in my lifetime and have enjoyed nearly all of them. Nearly35 years as an educator was a joy. Working as a ski shop manager in Colorado was an exceptional job. Police work was truly interesting. But working for my neighbor, Ralph Bell, was the best job I could have ever asked for. I began working for Ralph’s sister as a gardner on the Bell Farm in 1977 at the age of 11. I hired on with Ralph during college to make a few bucks over Christmas break. Since tree sales is a seasonal job and takes place during the most festive time of the year, it is hard to be in a bad mood on the farm. Friendships were made and renewed over the years and returning visits. These reunions were mixed with the sweet aroma of pine, the smell of gas and oil from the saws, a box of pepperoni rolls or a batch of chocolate chip cookies, and maybe a thermos of hot chocolate. Folks came for a ride in Ralph’s old, red 1948 Willys Jeep as much as they might have come for a tree. Mostly they came for Ralph. Family members by the dozens would alight from their vehicles in search of the perfect tree. They came with pictures and gifts and hugs and kisses and scoured the farm with an excitement that I can scarcely convey.

To me, this was Christmas.

After leaving Greene County for a teaching position in the Grove City area, I returned home on weekends to give Ralph a hand with his trees and to visit my Mom. I can recall Ralph hiring as many as five or six laborers in a day and seldom was the time when anyone wasn’t busy. It was hard work running up and down the hill when there wasn’t a truck available. Cutting trees and dragging them down the slope, tying them on to the tops of vehicles and making sure to keep track of your (Ralph’s) money was a chore to be sure but it was indeed a labor of love. And Ralph was generous to be sure.

Some of my favorite memories come from the slow days, sitting inside the old chicken coop with Ralph in front of a kerosene stove during the bitter cold. Between customers would check the score of the Steelers game and sip from a thermos of hot tea while Ralph would share stories of his days as a younger man on the farm, at Penn State or in the mountains of central Pennsylvania. What little I know about birds I picked up on those

pleasant afternoons.

I will miss Ralph’s trees nearly as much as I miss my old friend. They have always served as a reminder of our friendship. I hope that one day soon our family will return to the Bell Farm and collect our Christmas tree.

I hope we see you there.

Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com

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