A Bittersweet Memory

A Christmas memory that is dear to my heart actually begins in November leading into Christmas.
As a child, I remember my dad telling me that his father would venture into the woods at Cape May Point in search of mistletoe. My grandfather never found mistletoe, but he did bring home cuttings of a deep red/orange berry called “Bittersweet” and there the Watson Tradition begins. 
Each Thanksgiving, my dad would venture out to Cape May Point returning with his satchels full of branches loaded with the orange and red berries.
He would carefully cut the branches and arrange them into bouquets, giving them to friends to enjoy for the holidays. This has been a cherished memory for me for over 48 years.
As the years passed and my dad got older, he stopped venturing out to the Cape May Point due to health reasons. That was that – the end of the Bittersweet.
About 15 years ago my dad and I were reminiscing about his bittersweet adventures, and it occurred to us that I could go out with him.
One cold fall day we bundled up, grabbed walking sticks, backpacks, camera, pruning shears and his binocular and set out on our adventure.
We treated the retrieval of the bittersweet as a “covert” operation because the area had become an “Off Limits” protected area. We had to be quiet, sneak in and sneak out. And we did.
One year we couldn’t reach the bittersweet going the usual way because of a man-made trench that was swollen with bay water. My dad said we could get to the “Special Place” by going through Higbee’s Beach. So off we went, and when we reached the parking lot, we were greeted by a park ranger. 
My dad told the ranger about his tradition and after he was finished the man was kind enough to let us continue, he only asked that we did not take too much.
That ranger had no idea how happy he made my dad that year. We found the cherished berry, and as my dad promised, he cut just a few branches.
That was the last time we went out because it was just too hard of a journey for my dad.  In the years to follow my dad was successful growing his own bittersweet bush in the backyard and that was that until the railroad tracks were uncovered at the Point.
One cold fall day in 2014, my dad and I along with my daughter, his granddaughter (he affectionately calls “Sweet Pea”) set out to see the tracks. 
We walked up the beach, talked about the railroad tracks; one thing led to another, and you guessed it – with a grin on his face we slowly made our way up the beach.
It was low tide, so we navigated across the man-made trench into the woods. My dad often stopped to catch his breath, but we made it up a hill, and through the woods in our search for the orange berry and ultimately he found a sprig with no more than four berries on it. His joy was captured on camera and ours off camera.
I have never celebrated a Thanksgiving and Christmas without the memory of “Bittersweet” coming to mind, in particular, my dad’s last adventure out to Cape May Point.
I am very thankful that my daughter and I were there to share it with him! My dad still looks forward to seeing the berries on his own bush bloom, but I know for him it is not quite the same.