Remembering the Year of the Christmas Bass
By Christopher Harris
Some of my favorite holiday yarns are those where special memories are created out of having to deal with less than ideal situations— proving that it really is the thought that counts when it comes to the gift-giving season.
In the movie“ A Christmas Story,” little Ralphie gets his precious Red Ryder BB gun, but very nearly shoots his eye out, and the kitchen invasion of those dastardly Bumpus dogs forces the family to get Chinese duck for their Christmas Day dinner. In O’ Henry’ s“ The Gift of the Magi,” two young lovers sell their most prized possessions in order to buy the perfect gift for the other— a gift relating to the very treasure the other sold. And even little Baby Jesus had to sleep next to livestock thanks to the“ no vacancy” sign at the Bethlehem Courtyard by Marriott.
There are a number of reasons for this identification on my part, I suppose, but one of those would be one of my earliest yuletide memories— the year of the Christmas bass.
No, not a“ bass” like a fish— a string bass. My father was a member of the Lexington Philharmonic Orchestra before retiring in 2020, and his bass was a constant fixture in the house growing up, standing tall in the corner like some kind of brown houseplant. As a child, it was of imposing dimensions, probably about twice my height and seemingly just as heavy as me.
Just as perpetual as the presence of the bass was our holiday tradition, going back through generations of Harris folk, of going out and chopping down a live tree on our property in the Elihu area of Pulaski County. Perhaps it was not the most environmentally friendly of holiday highlights, but it had always been very important to my family. My grandpa did so with his dad, my dad did so with my grandpa, my dad did so with my mom when they got married, and when I came along, I went out with the older Harris men and hunted us some wild Christmas tree. As sure as Christmas falls in December, that’ s where the Harris’ trees came from— none of this assembleyour-own plastic monstrosity stuff for us.
That changed the Christmas when I was five years old. Living in little McKee, Ky., in Jackson County at the time, our normal plans to drive over to Pulaski County and do some old-fashioned tree shopping( or chopping, actually) had to be reconsidered when Mom came down with walking pneumonia.
It wasn’ t good. She had great difficulty just breathing. Wandering through the woods, ducking under branches and brush? Out of the question.
Unfortunately, she wasn’ t the only one. Grandpa wasn’ t able to go any longer either because of his own lung problems, which ultimately led to his death. The only two of us healthy enough to go out and get our tree were Dad and myself— nobody else.
I was heartbroken.
For a little kid like myself, consistency and familiarity were of the utmost importance. Just Dad and I going out? It just wouldn’ t feel right. This was a tradition for the whole family— our little Christmas tree search party would be incomplete.
So if Mom couldn’ t come out to get the tree— and certainly didn’ t feel like putting in the effort needed with a live tree, decorating it all and cleaning up after it and feeding it water— what would we put the presents under come Christmastime?
It was then that we spotted it— the string bass, standing there in the corner, firm and sturdy and unadorned inside its light brown protective case. It was a small house anyway, and finding room for a tree might mean moving the bass anyway; why not just decorate the bass?
So we dragged out a strand of tinsel, a few little paper ornaments( at that time, our ornaments had Cookie Monster and my other favorite characters on them— come to think of it, those are the decorations we still have today), and a cardboard star with loveable furry Grover’ s head peeking out from behind it, and attached them to the bass. And voila! We had a Christmas bass.
It did the job well— it did what any able Christmas tree is supposed to do. The festive decorations made us smile when we looked at it and feel that warm Christmas spirit inside. Thoughtful gifts wrapped in colorful paper and stick-on bows sat patiently underneath, waiting to be opened on Christmas day. And best of all, it was something we could all share as a family— even Mom.
She was healthy the next year, and we resumed our tradition of launching ourselves into the great outdoors to find a tree the old school way. But the year of the Christmas bass has remained a very special one in our hearts and our memories.
After all, we go back to Jesus in the manger— what is Christmas about if not making the best of a bad situation? Though I loved my Masters of the Universe figures and Darth Vader red lightsaber as a kid, what I’ ve taken away are the most generous gifts, the expressions of love and togetherness that my friends and family bestowed on me, and that which I was able to give to them on my meager five-year-old’ s income( which is to say, zilch). Those were things that couldn’ t be manufactured and would stand the test of time, and any other situation we might have found ourselves in.
Even if you’ re poor, even if you’ re sick, even if Santa’ s not putting anything under your tree this year— if you have someone, anyone in your life who you can share your time and love with and who you know will never let you down, you have the best gift anyone could ask for. If you can make the best of a bad situation, you can never be defeated.
The greatest gift of all— someone( or something) you can trust to always be in your corner. Just like the Christmas bass.
10 • SEKY- Southeast Kentucky Life December 2025