Our family lived in a small town in southwest Alabama. The midsize house sat in the middle of a three-acre lot with about forty large pine trees. My job as early as I could remember was to pick up all the pine cones that fell because my dad didn’t want them all cut up when he mowed the lawn.
Eventually, I left home and got married. After my parents died, I inherited the old home and decided to keep it. But the pine cones continued to fall, and it was still necessary to pick them up before mowing the lawn.
One day, I noticed this cute little pine cone about half the size of the others. I noticed it was perfectly formed. For some reason, I decided to take it home and put it in my den. Within a day or so, I felt the little pine cone might have a story to tell, and here it is. The little pine cone will be part of our Christmas decorations for years to come.
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