Sammy was the shy sort. Perhaps not shy, but notinteresting. Certainly not like the others. His whole life had been spent inthe box or on the lowest bough of the tree. Not the inside tree either wheretales from the other bells regaled of sparkling-coloured lights, shiny tinsels,toys and presents, big and small, all ensconced in wrappings even fancier thanthe lights. Exclaiming of children’s laughter brought gasps and oohs and awesas the inside bells told tales that made the long winter stored in the boxes soexciting.

Then the outside bells, the ones on the tree on the hillside,would talk about the twinkling stars on the indigo and inky canvas above, thebrilliant Christmas moons, and the cape of white draped across the trees andfences and the diamonds on the ground when the sun shone bright.  They described the children racing down thehillside on their latest slide or skating on the pond, each story told from adifferent perspective depending where the bell hung on the tree.

When it came to Sammy’s turn, he had nothing to say. Hespent his time on the lowest bough, covered in the fluffy snow and not evenprivy to the wind though, admittedly, sometimes the shaking did reach thelowest perch. His only view was through the eyes of those on the higherbranches. He reveled in the tales from those above him and, on a rare occasion,wished that he could get to experience what they did. But for all his years onthe outdoor tree, he took the lowest bough.

Excitement built in the trunk when the noises from the atticgrew loud. It was always the same. Scraping and hauling and pushing clamours grewlouder and louder until the lid was lifted on the trunk and the momentary blindinglight signaled it was time.

Their cardboard beds were carried to the tree and as thetree grew, some of the inside bells even joined them. Those ones were welcomed heartilyand got to see both sides of Christmas. How fortunate they were. For Sammynothing had changed. He’d make his yearly debut as the last one to go on andwith a little pat from the mitted hand the tree was ready.  

Whispers of the wonders of the night sky reached him throughthe limbs though he could only see darkness or green and white. Daytime adventuresrang out through the fields and tickled his ears. Sammy enjoyed this time outsidethe box. It was what he was made for.

As snow piled higher, Sammy’s view turned white then blackand then a gray that distinguished night from day. The tree shook more than usual,and the muffled sounds and whispers grew quieter until they were gone. At firstSammy paid no heed to the quiet. It had happened before when the winter stormshad been a little more forceful. They’d hung outside for longer and regaled ofswinging round limbs and clinking together when they finally got back to thetime packed away in the trunk. Sammy knew nothing of the swinging and clinkingas he’d always been buried in the snow.

Sammy’s worries grew when the snow began to melt, and thewhispers were no longer there. He shouted in case the other bells couldn’t hearhim but didn’t get a response. Rain began to drip from the limbs overhead asrain pelted the tree. A few drops ran down his string, but he was mostly dryand protected. The snow melted and he was freed. It was when he noticed plants peekingthrough the ground and the quiet above him was long that he realized he’d beenforgotten.

He wasn’t the first this had happened to. He had heard ofbreezy and sunny days, but they were rare. One little bell had told of the birdsthat had nested in the tree and how she watched the babies fly off in thesummer.  But that was so long ago, hebarely remembered. They had missed her in the cardboard in the trunk, but shefit right in when she was collected after Christmas the next year. Sammy wouldn’tsee the birds because he was too low. He wouldn’t have those stories to tell.

He had been reminiscing when he felt the soft touch up on. Ababy fawn had taken refuge under the tree. She brushed her new fur against himas she settled beneath the bows. He watched her doze in the sun before she roseand knocked into him again. She sent him swinging on the branch. He hadn’t feltthat exhilarating rush of air before. Sammy was gleeful as the fawn returnedevery day to visit the resting place and keep him company.

Before too long the bees began to visit. They tickled hisoutsides and insides as they looked for flowers. Sometimes they were tired and tooka break at the very top of him or took shelter from the wind within hishollowed interior. He was happy to give them a safe place to rest before theybuzzed happily away. Flowers grew, the wild hay danced in the breeze, and theyoung ones frolicked in the field while their parents kept a watchful eye. Foxescame to sniff at him with their cold noses making him laugh. It was an exhaustingtime.

Sammy grew tired when the first cold winds played around thebase of the tree. The hay had been cut, the animals were gone, and leaves ofvarious colours swirled by before moving on. His eyes grew heavy.

He heard his name called in chorus when he realized theother bells were back. It must be Christmas again, he thought. Heshouted to them and welcomed them back to the tree and told them how glad hewas to know they were there and how he’d missed them. He listened to theirwhispers over the next few weeks before they returned to the cardboard beds inthe trunk.

“We want Sammy to go first,” the bells all said. “We want tohear about his adventures.”

Sammy regaled of the fawn, the foxes, and the bees and allthat he had seen from beneath the lowest bough. The oohs and awes of the otherswarmed his heart as he was asked several times to tell them again what he’dseen.

One of the bells from the inside tree proclaimed that Sammyhad outshone them all and they allowed they’d all like to be on the lowestbough where the best things happened.

Sammy smiled at his luck at being able to bringall these new experiences to the others before they returned to the tree onceagain and Sammy took his rightful place on the lowest bough.