This song rounds out a triumvirate of Christmas tunes that exist in the more abstract memory recesses of my mind – recalled vaguely for their melody, and for some ethereal sense of Christmas and winter. The first was ‘The Holly and The Ivy‘, and the second was ‘Bring a Torch Jeannette, Isabella‘- this is another airy entry. The idea of three ships sailing in for Christmas seems like a glad one, but it doesn’t speak to any Christmases I ever had in landlocked upstate New York. Instead, I set sail in the boughs of an evergreen, floating high above the little city of Amsterdam and soaring mostly in my fantasies. 

There was one evergreen in our backyard, right at the corner of the pool deck, perfectly formed like the standard Christmas tree, only this one rose about 70 feet in the air. Its branches started low enough to the ground that we could jump up and climb into its heart. The lower branches were spaced at even ladder-paces, perfect for a young boy to practice his climbing. The evergreen needles were healthy and bushy, and the space close to the trunk, where I’d cling so carefully, was mostly hidden to any prying eyes. I loved that secret aspect of the climb more than anything else. 

As one neared the top, the branches spaced out a bit, and the needle cover was increasingly sparse. The higher one went, the greater the risk for exposure, but oh how much more exciting the view got, along with the exhilarating feeling of being that high above the ground. I was level with the top floors of our house, and it looked small and quaint at such a distance and from such a height. 

At that height, one could also feel the sway of the tree. The trunk was no longer as wide as my young torso. It wasn’t as stiff and stalwart as it was near the ground. Thinner and more malleable, it would shift in the wind, and all that once felt safe and secure was suddenly seen as flexible and changeable, subject to the whims of the wind. There was a thrill in that too. 

If we were by the shore, such a vantage point would prove useful for seeing any ships that were coming in for Christmas. As it was, I only saw more sky, a bit more land, and a view reserved for the birds and the butterflies. 

Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle —

Un flambeau! Courons au berceau!

C’est Jésus, bonnes gens du hameau.

Le Christ est né; Marie appelle!

Ah! Ah! Que la Mère est belle,

Ah! Ah! Que l’Enfant est beau!

The origins of ‘Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella’ are interesting, and with the advent of google and the internet itself, you can have at it. Something about two farmhands and Christ and, well, you get the idea (even if I didn’t). This song didn’t resonate with me until a few years ago, and not for its lyrics, but for its simple melody. It was supposed to be a song for French nobility, so maybe that’s why it speaks to me. In a previous life it’s almost certain my head was lost at the guillotine. Most days, I’m still paying for it. 

Qui vient là, frappant de la sorte?

Qui vient là, en frappant comme ça?

Ouvrez-donc, j’ai posé sur un plat

De bons gâteaux, qu’ici j’apporte

Toc! Toc! Ouvrons-nous la porte!

Toc! Toc! Faisons grand gala!

While I’m printing the French lyrics here, it is the instrumental version that I enjoy most, especially when it’s on some crazy-ass guitar as seen above. What in hell is that thing and how do I play it?! Sign me up for those lessons. 

C’est un tort, quand l’Enfant sommeille,

C’est un tort de crier si fort.

Taisez-vous, l’un et l’autre, d’abord!

Au moindre bruit, Jésus s’éveille.

Chut! chut! Il dort à merveille,

Chut! chut! Voyez comme il dort!

All wacky zaniness aside (it’s way past the expiration date of learning a new instrument), I’m adding this to the Christmas repertoire for seasonal accompaniment to all your merry-making. 

We have arrived at the first of December, easing into the high holiday season with a little holly and ivy, and a couple of rustic renditions of this traditional Christmas carol. As December has only just begun, it feels too soon to be so consumed by the chaos and cacophony of holiday mayhem, and so I’m pushing back, clearing the mental space and readjusting the mindset with a return to simplicity. This is my usual goal at this time of the year: to make the holidays a simple and quiet experience that approaches something slightly spiritual. 

That’s not always an easy frame of mind to maintain, and I have often spun way off trying to do too many things and see and entertain too many people, but in the age of COVID, staying somewhat isolated and safer lends for more moments of quiet and stillness. For a socially-anxious introvert, it’s my comfort zone, and instead of resisting that in an effort to fit in and go with the flow, I’m embracing my natural state of being. Hence this quieter beginning…

This is not one of those bombastic Christmas songs that all the kids love to sing. It’s old-fashioned, with a multi-layered history of meanings – the crux of the Christian and the Pagan or some other bullshit – but when I was a kid it was one of those songs that signified the role of nature in the Christmas season, and the outdoor beauty of winter.

It was the crystalline magnificence of the morning sunlight through a piece of ice dangling off the edge of an evergreen leaf. It was the gloriously sharp scent of pine trees, entwined with the faint smoke of a fireplace somewhere in the distance. It was a winter walk in the woods, away from people and noise and the stresses of everyday life. It was something that feels less real to me the older I get, but I know I had those moments because I remember them – scattered and vague and likely an amalgamation of various woodland memories – and no less real because of that. 

Between the suburbs and the city, most of the brushes with holly and ivy that I get these days are part of landscaping or gardens – a far cry from any forest path that probably never existed in the first place. That’s where these photos came from: a stand of holly along the Southwest Corridor Park in Boston, and a patch of ivy in front of some brownstone. On the grand scale of things, they may not be all that spectacular, but when taken in up-close they become a little forest in and of themselves. Stilling the moment to pause and reflect on the holiday memories that each evoked, it was possible to conjure entire winter worlds from a single leaf and berry. 

That sort of imaginary enchantment – an actual bit of Christmas magic – is the province of children mostly, especially children around Christmastime. Returning to that place isn’t always easy as an adult, but every now and then, such as when I brush by some holly followed moments later by a bit of ivy, I manage to muster such magic. 

Whenever this holiday season starts to veer away from this central tenet of seasonal significance, I will return to this post as a reminder of a simpler time. It will also serve to remind of the beauty of winter – and that always lasts much longer than Christmas. 

Welcome, December. 

From your scarlet berries of holly to the entwining tendrils of your ivy, you inspire with your raw beauty. Tucked into the very end of the calendar year, you are the finale and the beginning of something new all at once.