Oh Christmas tree
We cut our Christmas tree annually. . .except this year. This year we cut a tree that is not our Christmas tree.
Let me explain. Each year we round up as many children as are available for our Christmas tree expedition.
The car ride is often contentious. Henry teases Libby. Benjamin thumps Henry. My wife doesn't like Dean Martin's idea of Christmas songs. Fortunately the ride to Ron Walsh's tree farm is a short one. We like to drive right down into the tree slaughtering area. No such luck this year. Ron explained that several vehicles have already gotten stuck in the mud. "You'll need to walk back to cut your tree," he said with a smile.
My wife looked down at her shoes. Nice shoes not meant for mud. "You guys go get the tree," she said. This ii not the liberating comment it might seem to be. It doesn't mean, "I trust you to pick out a beautiful tree for our house." It means "go out there and don't screw it up. . .and you probably will" She is a tree nazi in the worst sense of the word. When she is present we must visit every single tree in the field (there might be a better one), marking the finalists for slaughter and allowing two of the top three to go free because they simply aren't good enough.
We are mere spectators in the Kate-searches-for-the-perfect-tree expedition. But, alas, I am a man. I am simple and stupid and live in the moment. Benjamin, Henry, Libby and I headed off innocently on a doomed mission.
I felt powerful, free, and meaningful. And we came upon a tree. . .a very nice tree. "This is the tree," Benjamin said. "Let's text a picture of it back to Mom." "Text a picture?" I said. "I like it. Let's cut it down. This is the tree," I added as Ben snapped a picture of the "candidate" and sent it off to his mother, ignoring my boldness.
We stood. We stared. We waited for the response from the truck where my wife's shoes would not be ruined by the mud. My feelings of power waned. The text came back. Not an "ok" or a "looks good" but more instructions. "Make sure there is no brown on it and no bare spots."
Is that approval? Not really. That is trickery. I sent another picture. "I can't really tell," was the response. Executive decision. I make big decisions for a living. "Cut it Benjamin," I commanded (yet only in the way a tree eunuch can command). We cut the tree and proudly marched it up the hill, seeking approval.
"It's yellow," she said instantly. "No it isn't," I shot back. "It is yellow and ugly. I don't want it." Ron, the tree guy stepped in to save the experience. "You can pick another tree," he offered graciously. "I like this tree," I said. "I knew this would happen." Ron smiled at me as my wife walked to the pre-cut tree area. "It's up to her." He knew. Of course he knew. He is a professional. Ten minutes later we had another tree loaded on top of the truck. Ron waved. "Merry Christmas."
I am sure that this scenario has played itself out hundreds, if not thousands of times this weekend and remember a pretty much identicle experience many years ago. Great story
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Wow. I've had similar experiences and finally completely deferred all tree buying decisions to my wife and kids. For some odd reason, I've found that those artificial trees are looking better every year.
Michael
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Oh, I've tried that. This is sport for her. Do you think she would allow deferral? That ruins the sport.
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Never have had the experience. Make sure to keep it with ample water.
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When my eldest son, now 29, was in grade school, he wrote a paper about family traditions and chose as his topic our annual trips to Walsh's Tree Farm, with me suggesting a tree near the car and my wife insisting on looking at every tree on the farm before selecting one. Then we'd all stand by the car and drink hot cocoa from a thermos bottle. We started doing that when he was two and a half years old. Good times.
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I wouldn't miss a moment of it.
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Funny, when we went to the Walsh Tree Farm yesterday in the rain, we spent appoximately 5 minutes picking a tree, another 5 cutting it and another 5 hauling and throwing it into the back of Geoff's/Steve's truck and voila!-the perfect Christmas tree. Amazing how crappy weather can make the decision process easier.
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That was the problem. Good weather.
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