The lobbying began before Thanksgiving, complete with song:
“All
I want for Christmas is a real Christmas tree,
A
real Christmas tree, oh, a real Christmas tree.”
I think you know the tune.
 |
| The mighty woodsman chopping down our Christmas tree. |
Several years ago we had a lean Christmas, and decided that instead of
spending scarce funds on a store-bought tree, we would cut a tree from our
land.
Mind you, Christmas trees in the traditional sense do not grow on our
land. We have Ashe junipers. Because they tend to grow in thickets, they are
shaped by their quest for the sun: thinly branched and leaved, usually
lopsided, with very long lower branches. When brought into the house, some
might consider them . . . ugly.
In my eye, once one is hung with ornaments (some handmade, some sentimental
favorites), strung with small white and multi-colored lights, swaddled in the
tree skirt I crocheted early in our marriage, and topped with the angel Dan and
I bought our first Christmas, it becomes beautiful. It is a cheerful symbol of
the love in our family.
Once we broke that tradition of visiting the Christmas tree lot,
wandering among the lovely evergreens, then dropping $75 on a tree that would
die within a month, it was hard to go back. In prior posts, we have established
that I am a cheapskate.
More importantly, it feels more Christmas-like to walk out the door and
wander our land in search of the perfect – well, somewhat perfect – tree, cut
it down, drag it to the house, wedge it into the tree stand, and decorate it. It looks like the
appropriate tree for our house. It feels homey. It feels right.
My daughter yearns to hang ornaments on those thick evergreen
branches once more. To her, our spindly cedar trees aren’t green enough, thick
enough, or lush enough to qualify as perfect Christmas trees. As I write this,
I feel a twinge of sympathy for her and her vision of Christmas. Maybe next
year we will give in and go find that perfect tree at a lot.
But when she’s grown with her own family, I hope she will fondly remember
those years when we put on coats, grabbed the chainsaw and headed for the woods
to choose a Christmas tree.
I love your tree. How fun to be able to get it from your own land.
ReplyDeleteI bet when your daughter is grown, and has children of her own, she'll tell them of these years. And, she'll tell them how wonderful it was.
I dunno, I'm 10 now, and still don't see the point in cutting down a Christmas tree off our property. There goes my identity. we will see. we will see.
ReplyDelete