Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar 2018

When Ken Hutchinson was growing up, he had a favorite tree on his grandfather’s farm. It was perfect for climbing, and eventually its sturdy branches held the treehouse that Ken and his grandfather had built together over one summer.

Later, Ken would identify that it was the constant nature of the tree that was so reassuring. Every year, tentative buds would bloom into leaves which would turn lush and green before becoming brittle, dry, and shifting to fiery colors before falling to the ground. Birds and nests and snowfall would adorn its branches in turn, and everything, even the eventual dismantling of the treehouse, was borne with a certain stoicism.

Hutch isn’t sure why this year is so different from any other, why the shift of the general population from the everyday malaise to a seasonal cheeriness should grate on him with such ferocity. But there’s something unsettling in the way it’s snuck up on him this year. Back home in Duluth, there’s always at least one layer of fresh snow to alert him to the change (and perhaps to cushion him from its impact) but Hutch hasn’t been home in a long time.

The tree that Starsky brings over and places on Hutch’s table is artificial. But Starsky’s smirk is genuine, the spring in his step more optimistic than grating. “The kind you put presents under,” he states in a tone that’s more than a hint. But Starsky has chosen blue and silver decorations that are easier on the eye than garish gold and red baubles, and Hutch can’t help but wonder if he’s done it on purpose.

“They say it’s only about fifty yards from the horse shoe pitch.”

The look on Starsky’s face is a predictable blend of incredulity and disappointment. Just as predictably, he joins in the laughter and jostles Hutch’s leg with his own.

Molly and Keiko are safe and well, and throughout the day there’s Starsky’s steady presence. It’s the best Christmas Hutch has had in a long time.

The artificial tree is still sitting on Hutch’s table on December 29^th. Starsky seems to be scrutinizing its branches, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

“Wondering if any belated Christmas presents are going to magically appear under there?”

Starsky’s mouth twitches as he turns toward Hutch. “Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.”

Starsky laughs at Hutch’s expression. “Don’t look so surprised.”

What Starsky doesn’t realize is that Hutch is startled by a flash of memory of his favorite tree, and the sudden realization of how much Starsky really does resemble it.

Hutch just offers a shrug and a small smile. “Just a favorite poem is all. Haven’t read it in a while.”