Our Christmas Tree

I grew up on a Christmas tree farm.  My Dad planted baby trees on an acre of land and built a successful business, bringing evergreen happiness into the front rooms of our neighbors and friends.  Pictures from my early childhood showed my sister and I growing year by year, with the trees alongside for comparison.  Little, then tall, then towering over us.  I spent hours amongst the green branches, hiding, playing, and even working.  One of my first jobs was to help my Dad as he hand-trimmed each tree; I would walk behind him and pick up the trimmings.  I learned the value of hard work and dedication from watching my father work throughout the year, and on cold weekend mornings, painstakingly tending, and then proudly selling his trees.  I saw him happily help people late on Christmas Eve, frantically looking for a tree for their family.  I took note when my parents brought in a tree that had been sold, and then returned because a lady had seen a bug in its branches, for our own tree that year.  The trees were a source of family pride, of tradition, of symbolism, and of precious simplicity.

Christmas represents a time for faith, family, and fun.  And as I got older, I became aware of the passage of years more acutely through the lens of Christmas.  A child waiting for Santa, a teenager reluctantly singing carols with the family, an adult enjoying a glass of wine while decorating the tree, a Mommy, seeing the bright lights of the tree reflected in the wide eyes of her baby.  The tree is ever-present during the holiday memories of our home.  As a child, I remember decorating the tree with ornaments and lights taken year after year from familiar boxes .  I remember hearing the story of my Baby's First Christmas ornament over and over, and the feeling of pride as I placed it on the tree.  Traditions arose naturally, such as who (my sister or I) got to run to tell Mom that Dad had said some bad words while putting on the lights and who (again, my sister or I) got to put the angel at the top of the tree that year.  Our tree always had multi-colored lights, and those lights were one of my fondest Christmas memories.  I would (and still do) stand in the darkened room, with the lights glowing and reflecting off the ornaments, looking, and willing the image to stay in my memory.  I always feel the urge to cry in cold, early January, when the tree is taken down.

Now, with a family of my own, I still decorate our tree with multi-colored lights.  The importance of our three Baby's First Christmas ornaments is such that I spent many hours searching for just the right one for each child.  I have ornaments from my childhood on our present tree, as well as some purchased during grad school when I was on my own, and from (the one) Christmas spent with just my husband before our oldest was born.  And then I have all the children's ornaments.  Maybe because of the feelings of significance held in my earliest memories of Christmas trees, I've always been fiercely loyal to each tree selected each year.  No matter its flaws, no matter how many brown needles, or bugs, or twists in its trunk, once the tree is ours, I will call it beautiful.  It is an important part of our tradition, and has a revered place in our family story.  It is the centerpiece of our holiday decorations, a source of wonderment and excitement for my children, a place of calm where our family can gather, and a piece of the great outdoors for our cat.

So, this year, I will stand again in the darkened room, with the lights of the tree softly illuminating shiny ornaments and glittery tinsel.  I will try to capture this tree in my memory.  I will look at each ornament and remember its significance in my family's journey.  I will smell the soft comforting evergreen scent.  I will enjoy this symbol of the season, the symbol of hope and renewal, and how much it has meant for my family through the years.