A week ago, we chose our first Christmas tree together. It was harrowing. Jordan, dressed to the nines in winter garb, trudged through the melting snow. I, pathetically unprepared for the event (guess who DIDN’T grow up on a Christmas tree farm?!), trying to step in his footsteps, and squealing and whining every time snow fell into my shoes. “How about this tree?” Jordan would ask, all optimistic. “What tree?!!!” I would holler from several yards away, still struggling to reach him. “The green one,” was his sarcastic remark. And I would sigh. He had tried to sell me on the ‘pretty red ones’ at first – which, in case you didn’t know, are in fact DEAD trees. My most common remark about a tree was, “I…..like it.” Note the hesitation.
“You ‘like’ it?? But, do you LOVE it? Can you look me in my eye and say, “Jordan I love this tree and I want it in my house”?” Well, no. It’s lopsided. It has a gap. Look at that dead branch! Too thin. With a sigh, Jordan would move on to another row, ever hopeful that the next tree would be my tree of choice. Patient man.
But at long last, we lighted upon a tree that I liked. Loved. Adored. My hero laid down in the snow, under those thick and liberally dispersed branches I loved so much, and sawed the base, and between the two of us (mostly just one of us, but hey!) we strapped the tree to our car and drove home. (Can I say here that having a father-in-law who owns a Christmas Tree Farm is soooo handy?)
It consumed our living room. There was some serious re-arranging needed to accommodate both the tree and our various articles of furniture, but it didn’t matter. The joy of having a real-deal Christmas tree in OUR little house for first Christmas together made every slight frustration worth it.
Now, thanks to my loving family, who donated some ornaments, and to my great foresight, which saw the need to collect new Christmas decorations with each passing year – and also, to the sentimentality of Jordan’s mother, who kindly saved all the ornaments given him when he was but a babe, as well as those crookedly cut, hideous, homemade mementos of childish Christmases past – we have a beautifully decorated tree. And house. And front porch (a light-up nativity given us by his grandparents). It’s all Christmas there! And my heart rejoices, because there really is no better season than the Christmas season, in my opinion, with all it’s lights and cookies and surprises and joyful reflections of the year.