That Strange Shore

Foggy Trees, a photo by paynehollow on Flickr.

This was Christmas Eve. In the flurry of departure, we had not provided a Christmas tree, trusting to get one along the way. I took a walk on the hillside, but came back empty-handed. In the twilight I saw what appeared to be an evergreen growing on the riverbank. It was a weed, green and flourishing in the wintry season, which resembled very much a small cedar in form and color. This became our Christmas tree. When installed in state, with a border of hand-dipped candles, it performed its role very well.

We had a fine Christmas alone on that strange shore. It was good to relax, to forget about the river and the drifting. There were packages to open. We thought of our friends, and wondered how they were receiving the gifts we had sent-smoked catfish wrapped in aluminum foil and tied with a red ribbon.

Tuning up our instruments, we played twice during the day. We took a walk ashore, and in the evening enjoyed some good reading by the fire. Our thoughts, though, were on the morrow's voyage...

~from Harlan Hubbard's, Shantyboat: A River Way of Life, published 1977 by University Press of Kentucky