December 8, 2008

Greetings from among the conifers,

When we got to the Christmas tree farm I had this fleeting impression that we were too late; all the trees were sold.  The field marked 'Parking', cheerily accented with red bows on the barbed wire fence, was filled with SUV's, trucks and vans, all accessorized with various species of pine on top.

You'd think we would remember from year to year, but there is usually some disagreement about what kind of tree we buy.  Pretty soon they all sound familiar: Norway Spruce, Douglas Fir, Fraser Fir, Colorado Blue Spruce.  Scotch Pine sounds like something my Dad would buy; maybe that's it.

It was a clear day, sunny and bright, the snow making it impossible to not squint.  If you stood in just the right spot you could forget for a moment that it was cold enough to lose an extremity. 

We stared at the half dozen species of trees, all clearly labeled for our conifer clarification.  Armed with this direction we clearly remembered getting a Fraser Fir last year.  Yes, of course, why would we get any other kind of tree?  Surely only the Fraser Fir would be acceptable for our holiday tradition.

The ancient tractor stopped in front of us, behind it a giant trailer lined with frozen hay bales for our seating comfort.  We climbed on and instructed the driver to take us to the other side of the world where the best Fraser Firs were kept. 

Time is a premium for our family and there are some traditions we have to cut corners on.  We had rushed out the door to search for the perfect pine tree and managed to forget the camera and the dog.  The important thing was we were together as a family, and so far, we were not fighting.

We bounced along past fields of people picking out the wrong kind of Christmas tree and finally stopped in the corner of the farm where the ideal firs were kept.  Between the temperature and the non-ergonomic hay bale, some of us were slightly numb in places where there should have been plenty of insulation.

I stood looking at hundreds of rows of trees and suddenly they all looked the same to me.  The tractor driver had waved in a two general directions when we asked for Fraser Fir before racing off as fast as a 1953 International Harvester can muster. 

Like most things, choosing a Christmas tree is a time/quality balance.  We want a perfect tree but we had just enough time to get one that is defective in some glaring way.  That is the side you turn to the wall.

The kids were very helpful, widening our ultimate choice of perfect-imperfect tree to six finalists.  Some were cute, some were funny, and some reminded of trees from years before.  Some looked like they were lonely and needed a home.

We found a tree with acceptable defects and, in my most manly lumberjack manner, I positioned the handsaw to kill it.  This tree has spent its entire life getting ready for us to come along with a saw and turn it into a houseplant with a preordained lifespan.  Not that I'm giving that a lot of thought.

I had a pang of artificial envy earlier this week when a guy I know told me he bought a pre-lighted fake tree for less than the cost of a fresh tree.  He will never have to buy a tree again.  Never have to freeze his tookus off on a hay bale.  Never have to spend an extra five bucks on hot chocolate and donuts while waiting to pay for a defective tree.

My family had a good time together, joking and horsing around. Carson and I stayed warm by playing 'toss the tree' while the rest of the family stood in line to pay for the tree and anything else that could be bought while standing in line.  I love being with these people.  We could probably have a good time putting together an artificial tree, but I feel like some traditions are not even about the traditions. 

I slung our imperfect Fraser Fir over my shoulder and headed out.  We waived our receipt at the Santa Security Guard and tromped back to the parking field. I lashed the tree to the top of the van in the time proven method of granny knots secured by prayer. 

Driving home we passed several people going home in various directions from their favorite Christmas tree spot.  Some had the wrong kind of tree.  Some of them had their tree tied on in the wrong way.   I felt smug and superior.  'Tis the season.

I lopped off the non-essential parts of the tree, reducing its value by about $10.00.  It is some consolation knowing that the branches we cut off will be used for wreaths or garland or just lay in the garage until spring.

On the other side of the French doors from where I sit, the Christmas tree waits for us to finish.  We managed to get a few lights on it before deciding we need new lights.  The decorations, neatly stored in crates, wait to be hung or broken, depending on the balance of time and quality in our next session.  It will be a fine Christmas tree.  I'm not an expert, but in truth I'm not even sure that is a Fraser Fir. 

Hope this finds you evergreen,        

David

Copyright (c) 2008 David Smith