"It looked better on the lot." That was Ellen's comment this morning when I asked her how their tree looked once they had got it home and up. Ah, so we were not alone. I suffer from bouts of romanticism especially in December and had gotten it into my head that instead of buying a tree at the grocery store which we normally do, we would cut one down our very own selves. What I was really after was the back-country experience where, having secured a permit from the forestry service, we would tromp into the woods with a saw and a flask of hot cocoa. We would emerge later with rosy cheeks dragging a big, freshly cut tree.
I got on line and discovered that other people want to do this too and they are more organized. All permits had been sold by mid October. Plan B. I investigated Christmas tree farms. Once again, these seemed to cater to the early bird and most were open one weekend only, the one right after Thanksgiving. But I found one that was also open this past Saturday and agreed with Ellen that we would both head up there with children to pick out our trees. Sam, who had initially liked the tree cutting idea, backed right away when the word "farm" was added to the outing. Not adventurous enough for him. Craig, who until he met me, had always had a fake tree, looked at me indulgently and firmly and did not even pretend to be momentarily interested. So, it was me and Catherine. We drove and drove and finally after about an hour ended up in what was pretty much a subdivision with large lots. The "farm" owners had obviously decided to turn their tract of land over to xmas trees at some point. We piled out of our two cars at the end of a cul de sac and tromped into the wild forests of spruce around their otherwise manicured suburban lawn. The trees were pretty picked over but I was determined and Catherine was generous, trying very hard to find something acceptable about each strange tree we considered. Finally we found one that seemed good (or less "not good") and we cut it down, heaved it onto the roof of the car, tied it down, and headed for home.
The next day after it had overnighted in the garage, a temperature controlled way station, we brought it inside and the trouble began. What had looked charmingly erratic in the field, now refused to conform to the tree stand. We managed to get it in, but it promptly fell over. Too heavy? Too bushy? Too something. But I was determined and told the children in my most jolly tone that this was a problem that a bucket and bricks could surely fix. Their grandfather, I told them, had never owned a tree stand and every year the tree stood up, a triumph of pieces of broken brick and my father's determination to make do with what was at hand. They looked dubious. We found a bucket and some bricks and I kept telling them how fantastic this was going to be. Catherine, who cares very much about Christmas and nice decorating, looked appalled at the empty cat litter pail. I assured her that we would drape some nice red and green fabric over it the feat of engineering would be our little secret. Except the bucket didn't work either and the tree just fell over more loudly. Even I began to feel defeated and we left it lying across the living room floor hoping Craig would have an idea when he got home.
Bless him. For a man who is more humbug than ho ho (partly to do with suffering his entire childhood with a Christmas Eve birthday), he set to work. First he announced that another few inches of the trunk needed to be sawed off. This to deal with the first of the trunk's several deviations from the straight and narrow. Once that was accomplished we got it into the stand and now the lowest whorl of branches was sitting right on the edge of the opening, providing just that extra needed support. We stepped away gingerly and it stood. Catherine came back and moaned in dismay, "But it's not straight." Which, to be honest it wasn't. Craig, retorted that, what it was doing was all you could expect from a tree with scoliosis. In addition to it not being straight, it also has a curious yellowish cast to its long extremely prickly needles. We looked for the Christmas lights and Catherine finally remembered she had lent them out to a friend for some school club event so 24 hours later, the yellow giant still lurches naked in the corner of the living room. It drinks a lot of water.
