This afternoon my husband, two grandchildren and their babysitter drove into central Connecticut to cut down our Christmas tree. The little house above holds a wood stove, hot chocolate and friendly people to warm up with after trekking around outside in frigid weather looking for the perfect tree.
Now clearly with five people exploring acres of trees the task of settling on just one takes a while. Any pick had to be unanimously approved(whose idea was that? oh yeah-mine). Many were too tall or too wide to fit in the corner of our living rooms. Others were lopsided(according to a veto vote) or scraggly(in the eye of another veto vote) or crooked(my veto). The babysitter added the helpful tip that presents needed to fit under the tree, eliminating ones with boughs to the ground. Finally the cold won out and we all agreed that one tree was just fine. I headed for the warming hut while the others took turns with the saw(helpfully provided by the farm.) The place had a device to squish the tree into netting so it could go in or on the car. This year’s went on the car since the back of the van had passengers.
Many people we know have fake trees. They don’t call them fake of course since that is derogatory. But we lived in Oregon for many years and they were called fake, looked down on, and generally scorned and mocked. After all, we were The Evergreen State and needed to stay faithful. Fortunately our town picks up discarded real trees curbside after Epiphany Sunday and chips them into yard bark, available for residents to pick up for landscaping. So a farmer makes some money in the winter, we have the smell of a real tree, and the tree gets usefully recycled.
We will be back at “Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree Farm”(its real name) next December to repeat the search.