Many different things come to mind when I think of childhood memories from Christmas time. There are stories about waking up early to see if Santa came, baking sugar cookies with Mom, and visiting relatives.
One of the family traditions that stands out amongst the rest is the yearly trek to the Christmas Tree farms.
Yes, I’m talking plural.
Finding the Perfect Tree
Going to get the tree was always a family affair. It wasn’t like one of us stayed home and watched TV while the others trudged through the snow. Nope. All of us went.
Just like in most of our family excursions, if not all, Mom was our center. She was the one that guided our adventure as we searched through rows and rows of pine trees for the perfect one.
The tree itself had to be big. It had to have a nice top to it, a wide bottom, and limited ‘holes’ in it.
Finding the tree was not like other household decisions. Mine and my siblings’ opinions were weighed equally with Mom’s and Dad’s. If one of us did not agree on the selected tree, then we moved on. It was understood that it was an ‘All or Nothing’ type of thing.
There were multiple years when we would search a tree farm, scour through acres of beautiful trees, and not find what we were looking for. No big deal. We would just all pack in the truck and go to the next tree farm. We took it seriously.
I remember one year where we found two perfect trees, right next to each other. We stood out in the cold, freezing, arguing over which one to choose. Finally Mom said, “We will get them both.” That is exactly what we did. We had a tree in the living room, and one in the dining room. It was perfect.
Trimming the Tree
Every year that I can remember, we would put up the tree as soon as we arrived home.
Mom would place a folded sheet in the spot that she had already picked out for the tree. Dad would find the old, heavy duty iron tree stand in the pole barn and attach the tree to the stand.
We never had our tree wrapped when I was growing up. I’m not sure if it was because that was not available at the tree farms when I was young, or if it was just something Mom and Dad didn’t choose to do. Either way, it meant that when Dad dragged the tree through the sliding glass doors, plenty of pine needles fell on the floor.
After the tree was placed in it’s spot, and the lights were put on, my sister, brother, and I would decorate the tree. At this time, Mom and Dad would go and take a bath – together.
Now, I debated on including this information into my blog, but, let’s be honest, not many people are reading this. Also, growing up, it was just the way that it was. I truly thought that all parents took baths together each and every night.
The significance of this information, trust me, there’s a point to this, is that Mom said when we were little, her and Dad would get out of the bath to come look at the tree and all of the decorations would be crowded on the bottom half of the tree since that was all we could reach. This is important information and a good, strong memory.
It shouldn’t be overlooked.
New Generation, Same Tradition – (Minus the Shared Bath)
Now that I have my own family, Brian and I plod through snow, dragging our own children around in the cold, as we search for the perfect Christmas tree.
Since we live in my childhood home, we often are visiting the same Christmas tree farms that I went to when I was a little girl.
The Christmas tree is placed in various locations around the house, depending on the year and what seems best. Undoubtedly, it ends up in the same places that Mom would choose when I was younger.
Stockings are hung on the same mantle, and Santa visits using the same fireplace.
There’s a strength in the continuation for me. I believe old traditions shouldn’t consume you, but they can often be meshed well with the new.
I’m hoping that we are doing exactly that.
Goals for Today:
- Take a Walk While the Weather is Nice
- Fill a Box to for Goodwill
- Work on Pinterest