A Christmas Tree Story

We are standing in a field of trees. Blue spruce. Douglas Fir. Scotch pine. My only request as we trudge downhill in the snow is for soft branches. "Don't," I say, "even consider a tree that has needles that are as sharp as pins."

It's cold out. An obvious statement of fact considering we live in Upstate New York and it is the month of December. KC wears her white winter jacket and her Christmas red gloves with matching red ear muffs. The trees she seems to be drawn to are small. Kid size. More accurately the size of something she might put in her own room rather than in her Grandfather's living room which is where the tree we are looking for is destined to go.

My father keeps a few steps behind us carrying with him the prerequisite hack saw, or as he will later correct me, his tree saw. It doesn't matter. Regardless of what kind of saw it is or in fact isn't, it doesn't make its dull edge glide through the tree any easier when it comes time to cut it down.

Ten minutes into our hunt for the perfect tree I am beginning to think we've come to the wrong place to find one. The trees here are all slightly less appealing then most you'd see at a pull up and go Christmas stand. And the trees that we do stop to consider are quickly ruled out by brown branches, bare spots, and a propensity for being more lopsided than not.

I am walking with a destination in mind feeling much too cold to linger long. In the farthest corner of the farm of course, I see a tree that just might do the trick. KC on the other hand is moving through the snow as if she is ice skating, sailing away from me as fast as she can, intent on being first to find the perfect tree.

Everything with her these days is race, race, race... My girl who has taken her time thus far to grow up seems now to lack the patience to take her time.

From the short distance he lags behind, my father begins singing Christmas songs. We are laughing together in this cold field of not so many impressive trees. Dad sings and tells a story of a time many years ago when he took my sister Amy and I out to a field much like this for the same exact purpose.

"You were much smaller then," he says, "but still equipped with the proper amount of tears to make the mission tedious. I had to pick you both up and carry you back to the car. Both of you complaining and crying that you were cold."

I tell him that I'm thinking of reverting back to my old ways. "If it will get me out of the cold and put a tree on top of your car, I am not adverse to crying," I answer him.

Just when I have given myself over to the despair of ever being warm again, KC yells that she has found a tree. She is hopping up and down in the snow, her cheeks red, her brown hair flying in the wind. "This is the one," she exclaims proudly. And after careful inspection consisting of circling around the tree and eyeballing it from all angles, we all agree that this is the one that's going home.

Dad hands KC the hack tree saw. "You can cut it," he tells her. KC grins up at him like it's Christmas morning. I decide to let her give it a go but only mostly because I don't feel like getting any closer to the cold ground than I have to.

We begin to saw. We, I say because when KC begins to get tired, I am given a turn, and when I decide that I get tired, I pass the torch right along to Dad. Between the three of us, the tree comes down with just the right amount of convincing and elbow grease. Dad looks at the tree, looks at the distance to where we have to drag it back to and says what I have been thinking, "Why the hell did we pick the tree that was the farthest out?"

I however am thinking about setting up shop in the snow, but as I am the one with the money in my pocket to pay for the tree I follow my father and daughter back up the slippery white hill of snow.

KC volunteers to drag the tree and though I offer to help I am both secretly thankful and amused that she refuses me so she can take the credit for doing it all herself. A point she will continue to point out the rest of the day to anyone who asks. Or doesn't ask...

She does however drop the tree like no tomorrow the minute two teen aged boys come into sight and offer to carry it the rest of the way for her. The speed in which she drops the tree and hands it over amazes me. She flashes the boys her best smile, softens her doe eyes and follows along after them as my father and I share a look that wonders where my little girl has gone.

Paying for the tree we wish the proprietors a very Merry Christmas and load it in the back of my Dad's pick up truck. KC rides with Dad the short distance home, and I take the lead pulling out first in my car. I drive faster and know these back roads as if I were born on them.

Back at Dad's we let the tree warm up in the garage. He hooks up some hot air blower to blow hot air on the tree to help melt all the snow we dragged into its branches on our trek back up the hill. I am slightly concerned that we will set the tree on fire but decide to trust Dad's judgement on this one. We watch a movie while we wait for it to melt...

For two hours we warm the tree, checking it every so often to see if it is ready to be brought in, until finally we declare it time. The garage door opens and we shortcut to the front of the house, and the main living room where this tree will stand.

My sister Jo and I carry the tree and from this point on I begin my swearing spree. "I said no sharp needles and what tree do we wind up with?" I say to no one in particular, "A scotch pine. A sharp ass needles like pins, can barely touch the tree let alone carry it in scotch pine! It would be a wonder if anyone ever listened to me in this family."

I, of course, am ignored. They are used to me bitching just to hear myself talk.

We set the tree down into the tree stand. It doesn't really fit as it should but we have decided to make it work Ala Project Runway. Dad says he thinks we need to cut a few more bottom branches off but I decline basing my opinion on my limited lumber jack skills. "We will unbalance the tree if we cut any more off," I say.

But the tree isn't balanced. In fact, the tree won't stand up straight at all and Jo doesn't help when she cocks her head to one side when giving me her opinion if it's straight.

We dissolve into a fit of giggles. And once we've begun, it's almost impossible for us to stop. Even my Dad starts laughing because there I am sitting half under the tree on the floor sawing away at the tree that won't stay still and won't stand up with Isabella the dog attacking the bottom branches at my side. We are a comedy of errors and the tree is falling on my head.

"Do you think," I say to my sister, "you could laugh and hold the tree up while I'm attempting to cut it?" I get yet another branch in my face when laughter loosens her grip on the tree.

Two tree stands later (we stripped the screws on the first one and made it useless) the tree is finally standing at almost eight o'clock at night. I have been here since church let out this morning and I am beginning to think of all the things I've left to do at home. I smile to myself however reminding myself that these are the moments memories are made from.

The once silent house is bursting with joy with the arrival of my sister Audrey and her husband Hans and their small dachshund Dieter who have come all the way home from Baltimore. Hans in fact proves himself a welcome addition to both our home and family, and is in fact detrimental in our quest to right the tree after we have hacked half the bottom branches and most of the bark away. We do a late dinner together. Pot roast, potatoes, onions and carrots. It smells warm and cozy, a good backdrop to the snow falling outside.

"Next year," says my stepmother, "we go back to artificial."

The table goes quiet.

I don't know what everyone else is thinking but I know the thoughts that are running through my head. I wonder silently and sadly if she has the strength to hold on for another year. She has grown so frail as of late that I think a light breeze could knock her over and she sleeps more often than she is awake. Her spirit however is strong, illuminating her with courange and determination. But still I wonder if we will all be here together this time next year.

I hope. And then I pray. And the smell of evergreen infuses our house with love.