The perfect tree

Yesterday after church we set out in search of the perfect Christmas tree. I want to be absolutely clear that the perfect Christmas tree, in my humble opinion, can not be an artificial one. And. One more thing: I don't think anyone should peruse the tied-up pre-cut varieties at any store or stand and purchase one of those. They are simply inferior. (Like I said, in my humble opinion.)

Without fail, for as long as I can remember, the weekend after Thanksgiving is when you would spot my family-- my dad, mom, my older sister, me, and my younger two brothers--traipsing through the cold Christmas tree farm, hunting for the perfect tree. Ahem. My mom's version of the perfect tree. For those of you new to this type of hunt: To find the perfect tree means that you have to rule out every other tree.

As it happens it was usually pouring down rain, and the tree farm we frequented had a valley in the middle of it, boasting some very evident drainage problems. So getting to the other side of the lake (which is where the perfect tree surely sat, according to my mom) was an adventure to say the least. Each one of us had our work cut out for us to try to convince mom that this one, here, was it. Right? The perfect tree. Before we got to the lake.

Really, as a young girl- any tree was sufficient as long as we could get back to the warmth of the car straightaway. But my mom had the deciding vote. And my mom is the most indecisive person on the planet. "Oh, I don't know. Do you think it's too sparse right there at the bottom of the tree? Maybe. I think so. Where was that other one...? No, not the first one, but the second one. Remember? The one I said I liked? Let's go look at that one again." And so off we'd go.

Over the years we developed a system. We'd get out and scour the lot, marking all the possibilities. (With leaves, rope, a twig, whatever we could find...) Then we'd go back to each one and finally, after about an hour or so had passed, my dad would say something like, "Okay, honey. Really. I think we've seen them all, now. Time to choose one." And so she'd narrow it down- to maybe the final two or three choices- and then on our way back to the one she'd decided we could cut down and take home, she'd spot a few other possibilities.

Somehow we always came home with a tree. The perfect tree.

Now, I don't know how this happened--it's not like I consciously decided that my husband and children should endure the same thing as I did growing up--but I do happen to have a very clear picture in my own mind of what the "perfect tree" is. And so the tradition continues.

I meant to detail our own hunt here in this post, but... this is far too long already so I'll do that next time.


[Photo courtesy of the stock.xchng]