The Ribbon - Part Two - Trees

My stepfather, Lou Hammond, must have been born with river water in his veins. I'm not sure if my mother had any clue of this when became a family in 1956. Lou worked for his family’s company, Hammond Tree Service, and would come home sweaty, smelly and often covered with scratches and scrapes from trimming and topping trees. When I was out of school for summer or Christmas break I would ride along as he called on homeowners to see if they had any trees that needed to be cut, trimmed or removed. First he would call on people who had contacted him then he would cold call by stopping by homes with large trees that could use some work. Most days at least one house would need his services and I would sit in the truck while he went about being a “tree surgeon.” After he had finished and loaded the back of the truck with brush and limbs, we would head home, stopping first by a dumping area. I would hold my breath and grab whatever was available while Lou would accelerate and back the truck up towards a steep embankment. I would scream as he stomped the brake to make the load slide out of the back of the truck into the ravine. As I got older, my screams were not appreciated and I just held my breath tighter.

My brother Frank and I in front of Lou's truck

Lou was a well-read man and knew everything about trees. I loved to walk with him through yards and forests and have him recite the Latin names of the trees and bushes. When I was with him I could climb tall trees, knowing that he would be there to rescue me if I climbed too high and couldn’t get myself back to earth.

At Christmas time Lou and his brother Bob would take my brothers and me to a Christmas tree farm and the men and older boys would spend the early morning cutting hundreds of trees. We younger kids would hold the twine as the men would wrap the trees to minimize their girth and then load a large truck with as many trees as it could hold. For helping, each of us was given a small number of trees of our own to sell and make Christmas money. While Lou would sell his trees at an empty lot in downtown Newport, we kids would stand outside the local grocery, bathed in the smell of pine and get about $2.00 per tree. Being the smallest, I usually only had a few trees that were considered mine but it was one of my favorite times of the year.
In the coming years he made less and less calls and instead would drive around and stop at marinas and boat harbors. Lou would sit and smoke and talk with the river folk at these boat docks. Sitting quietly by his side, I’d sip my coke and maybe play with the occasional mutt that was wandering about. Lou knew for certain what he wanted and it had nothing to do with trees.