Sunday, December 11, 2005
I was out with Michelle and Mike the other night and the subject of christmas trees came up.
"So did you get yours yet?"
"Yep. Home Depot." Michelle loves to shock me with her delight in having a fake tree in her house. I still don't get the point. I mean, the whole thing is a little bit absurd anyway, right? Tree in your living room and all that, to say nothing of the decorations that range from quaint to truly hideous. I say, if you're going to take part in tradition, then go whole hog and put up a real tree. Deal with the sap and needles, it's part of the experience.
Mike then one-upped my affinity for tradition. "I chopped mine down myself at the tree farm."
Oooh! That sounds like fun! Apparently there's a tree farm literally two miles from my house that had escaped my notice over the past two decades. Not only does one grab a hacksaw and wander into the forest of short, plump fir trees to hunt down the perfect tree, it's cheaper than the pre-cut place I've been getting mine from!
I immediately made plans for a visit.
Sadly, the experience was not as enjoyable as I'd thought it would be. It was muddy, the trees were quite natural, and not at all pretty. I felt guilty, especially after having been moved to tears by "Why Christmas Trees Aren't Perfect." Here I am, a vocal proponent for christmas au naturale, and I'm wet, cold, and miserable at the magical tree farm.
In my defense, I did stick it out for about a quarter of a mile along a muddy path, but I simply wasn't feeling that same thrill that I saw in others' as they tromped giddily through the forest with their hacksaws.
I brought my saw back to an overly cheerful lady manning the tree barn. "Maybe I'll try again tomorrow."
"Oh, okay," she looked disappointed for me, "but we're only open on the weekends."
Apparently I'm a pre-cut tree kinda gal.
posted by hilary at 4:16 PM |
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