This week: Observations: Tree Traditions Edited by: Fyn  
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Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.~~John J. Geddes
I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.~~Maya Angelou
The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.~~Bill Vaughan
Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.~~T. S. Eliot
Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.~~Laura Ingalls Wilder
The perfect Christmas tree? All Christmas trees are perfect!~~Unknown
Some Christmas tree ornaments do more than glitter and glow, they represent a gift of love given a long time ago~~Tom Baker
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I'll be honest. Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year. Why? Because here, it is all year long. I find treasures all year long, most of which I unearth by Christmas although occasionally, I refind them two years after the fact and use them then! Some never make it til then because I'm too excited and simply, can't or don't want to wait for seven or three months! But it is much, much more than that. In our home, Christmas is a way of being. Thinking. Doing. All year long. But now tis the time I can indulge. Carols are playing, the bells are ringing, and home takes on a magical glow.
If it were solely up to me, I'd leave my (artificial) tree up year round and folks would never know when a treat might appear underneath or hanging off a branch with a tag reading: OPEN ME NOW! It might be August and we are out by the firepit and a Christmas song comes up on the playlist. We don't swipe to the next song, we sing along because, why not? The Christmas Spirit is alive and well here 365 days a year. Some of our neighbors 'get' it, others don't. Some just shake their heads and smile. Point is, the Spirit of it all is love~~kind and giving hearts that know no special days, but simply are.
Traditions are huge here. Any, all. There is a comfort in traditions. A sense of 'knowing what's next, of what is coming, of a grounded-ness' in a world too often unsettled and chaotic. For us, a big one centers around the tree. For years, circumstances dictated that an artificial one was far more practical. It certainly could be enjoyed longer, didn't shed needles to be tracked through the house (lying in wait) to attack unsuspecting bare feet and didn't need to be watered daily due to thirsty tree and/or pet pooch. The lights on it, however, gave up the ghost a couple of years ago and so this year, we are opting for 'real' and it will be nice to have the house take on that Christmassy scent no candle will ever truly emulate!
So, all that being said, this weekend while out doing other stuff, we decided to go to the Christmas Tree Farm to cut down our own tree. Now, ind you, we were not dressed for being out in cold weather. I was wearing sneakers. But off we trotted across a square mile of trees looking for the 'perfect' tree. We could only cut down a tree with a colored tag on it. We saw many 'perfect' trees. No tag. Seemed the tagged trees were all too small, too gargantuan, too crooked, the wrong type, were off-balanced or something just wasn't screaming at either of us. In the snow, slipping on muddy tracks, we wended our way all the way to the very back. There we found the tree. Complete with tag. I'd been looking for a Fraser fir or a Douglas fir. My hubby was thrilled that we both liked this particular tree because it was a Concolor tree. Typically, their branches are more on the flimsey side, but this one has stronger branches to support our heavier ornaments. And, as he kept saying, it was a Concolor tree. Concolors, you see, smell like a pine tree until you rub needles together, they they smell like a freshly opened orange. Strange, but oddly engaging. Then it goes back to smelling like a Christmas tree ought to smell!So we had 'our perfect tree.' He got down in the mud, cut it down and we began our long trek back to the front. It began to snow. We started singing 'Winter Wonderland.' We're kinda goofy like that. Then we realized other voices had joined it. It really was perfect.
During this entire journey we were surrounded by many, many families. Folks with little kids running to and fro, other grandparent-aged people, entire famlies out getting numerous trees, people with dogs, teenagers and infants. Everyone was in a great mood. People were engaged in the experience. Phones were being used to take pictures. Not selfies, but this one or that actively cutting down or trying to carry the trees. People were laughing. With each other, talking to each other.
Back up front was a gift shop with a small area serving hot cocoa and doughnuts and ... there was a burning woodstove and it was warm inside!
Thawing fingers around actual mugs of hot chocolate, warm mulled cider, coffee, we all felt fingers begin to thaw. The warmth brought feeling back into my cold feet inside soaked sneakers. It was as if everyone knew everybody. Conversations were all inclusive as total strangers talked and laughed together, swapping tree stories of tangled lights and 'the time the tree fell on (insert anyone's name)' which led to someone else sharing the story of the tree that survived the Blizzard of '78 or some other disaster. It was if we all fell into a party. A party with expanded and shrank as people came and went.
Outside, our tree went through the shaking machine and then the baler. Momentarily, it was if we were transplanted into a fully blooming orange grove. People stopped. Sniffed. Smiled.
The tree will go up on Thursday. Lights, ornaments, Christmas carols playing. A fifty-five year old styrofoam drummerboy ornament will be first. My hubby will pace it dead center front. He always does. Has for fifty-five years since his mother made it for him the Christmas he got his Ludwig drum set for Christmas. The drums he was playing tonight downstairs. Every other ornament will spark the same stories they do every single year. We'll add new ornaments; we do every year. One, this year, will be for our newest great-grandson named after my hubby. We'll finish it and we'll say, as we do every year that it's the prettiest tree we've ever had. Neighbors seeing the tree in the front window will pop over as we've done house by house on our street as trees have gone up. As early as it still is, really, we are next to last. (Don't ever want to be last!)
Two of our special friends are coming this weekend. The house will be transformed as only we can do it. Because each family is different and each has their own quirks and ways of getting ready. They, each and every one, does it perfectly for them. Every single one is tinged with that warm, cozy feeling.
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Poetry: November 28, 2018 Issue [#9250]
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