Cutting the Christmas tree ourselves is a significant tradition that
dates well back to the years before I was married, with the whole family going
together to select and cut it, as we still do. The ranks have grown
considerably over the decades and have included guests from foreign countries.
This year we went to our favorite tree farm on a hillside outside the
quaint hamlet of Singers Glen with all of our children and grandchildren, the
youngest just four months old. Quite an adventure. The little people were
especially excited, but a good time was had by all. Finding the candy cane tree
is the ultimate challenge. Weary from the steep incline, three yr. old
granddaughter Emma confided to me, “Dumma (as I’m called because our oldest
grandson couldn’t say his G’s so Gumma became Dumma) this gonna be a hard day
finding that candy cane tree.” But we did. A happy shout from our son-in-law
sent everyone tramping off down another side of the hill.
To mix things up this year, my college art major daughter, Elise,
suggested we get the ugliest tree we could find for our immediate household and
see what we could do with it. Six year old Ian thought this was a great idea,
however, after he’d helped cut it, Ian asked, “Dad has out tree, right?” He
didn’t want to get stuck with a dud.
The couple who own the tree farm were glad someone still liked Charlie
Brown trees, thinking they’d never sell this one. Not only do they have a
beautiful farm, but a wonderful old spring house where the wife serves hot
chocolate and visits with guests by a cozy fire in the vintage hearth and
children are invited to choose an ornament to take home from their decorated
tree. This is the best Christmas tree farm ever.
Visitors from China who’ve stayed with my parents over the years have
found this tradition of trekking off to cut an evergreen ourselves rather
fascinating, as they do the whole concept of stuffing a large tree into our
house and decorating it with eclectic baubles, like the glittered light bulbs
our son made when he was in first grade, or the dough angel with glasses my
brother created some time ago. But that’s another story.
In the beginning of our marriage my hubby didn’t yet grasp the
importance of this communal tree-gathering experience, the snow or mud
squelching beneath our boots, haggling over the merits of every pine and spruce
on the tree farm honored by our presence. Shortly before December 25th, that
first year of wedded bliss, DH turned up with a tree he’d purchased from the
local rescue squad––already cut.
I sadly contemplated the little evergreen and tried to make it my own,
but this was not to be. Realizing his gross error, Dennis accompanied me at his
first opportunity to a neighbor’s farm where we were given free rein to choose
a tree from the field that had gone to cedars. After careful searching, he
sawed down the tree of our choice, with far less debate than there is now with
all the added opinions.
Still, there were difficulties. We hadn’t ever cut a cedar on our own
before and didn’t realize how they sometimes grow. When we cut the trunk
shorter to fit in the stand, it fell apart into three trees, none of them suitable.
My father, a veteran cedar cutter, took me for the third and final
time to choose a tree from the farm our family had traditionally patronized. By
this point Dennis, Mom and Dad all agreed that I was becoming somewhat
obsessive about the whole thing and perhaps there’s some justification in this,
but the pressure was on to select the most perfect tree ever, like Papa Bear in
The Berenstein Bears Christmas.
We finally found one, after considerable searching on my part and
growing impatience on my father’s, not to mention cold feet. I decorated it
lovingly in the little apartment Dennis and I lived in then, but I didn’t bask
in its presence for long. The apartment just wasn’t home, so I spent most of
the holidays at my parents’ house in front of their tree.
This year Elise and I decorated our ‘challenged’ tree with strings of
popcorn and lights, as it’s rather skimpy to hold the traditional ornaments.
All in all, it’s not a bad little tree. Quite pretty, really. Six yr. old Ian
is impressed.
I am giving away my new
Christmas Romance Release, Somewhere the Bells Ring, in whatever ebook format
the winner chooses so go to http://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/ and leave your comment and don't forget your email address in case you win.
I enjoyed the post; it was a great read.
ReplyDeleteThanks,
Tracey D
booklover0226 at gmail dot com
What a fun post to read. I love that your daughter wanted a "challenged" tree, but the 6 year old (grandson?) wanted to make sure this was not for his house! Cute!
ReplyDeleteJune M.
manning_j2004 at yahoo dot com
Have a great holiday season!