Family Traditions
We have our family traditions that we hold near and dear. At certain times of the year, we all come together as a family to perform these rituals. I have had friends comment on how special it is that we enjoy doing things together. We are tight knit and we do pull together in times of need and in times of celebration but I am not sure that any witnesses to our traditions would consider it special... in the traditional sense of the word. We are often most thankful for the fact that there are no witnesses to our 'special' family traditions. We are a loud and opinionated bunch...every last one of us....and that leads to some memorable moments. I am not talking about rose-coloured moments cued with melodic flutes tunes but rather Chevy Chase-esque type family moments.
The annual harvesting of the Christmas tree is one such family tradition. When John and I had our first child, I got it in my head that we needed to do Christmas the old tyme way by cutting down our own Christmas tree. John has been a reluctant participant in this process often clinging to his truck window commenting on the lovely trees he can see for sale in parking lot after parking lot as we drive into the country in search of our tree. There are certain things that can always be counted on during this annual tradition. John opining the need for it. Someone in the clan openly sulking in sullen silence. And the brand new swear word that we all learn at some point during the process.
I could write a book about our many adventures in cutting down the Christmas tree. There is the one year that John really upped the ante and decided to make the expedition historical. He had discovered a very old saw in the back of the barn that had probably been used by one of my ancestors. Thinking to bring history full circle by using this implement, it was the only cutting tool he brought with him that year. As John rolled about in the rain and the mud at the base of the tree we had carefully picked for our own, he beat upon the trunk with a saw that was as dull as a butter knife. Queue new swear word! In the end, I had to send our very young children off into the woods to play by themselves as they had already learned their one new swear word and the stream of words coming from underneath the tree was a little shocking for all of us.
Then there was the year we picked the magnificent huge tree which I really wanted rather than the smaller misshapen Charlie Brown tree advocated by John. It was a very heavy tree and we had to carry it quite a distance back to the truck. We had already learned our one new swear word by the time we arrived back at the truck so no one argued when John declared that there was no need to tie it down as it was heavy enough. Fifteen minutes later, travelling at 90 kms, we all watched in amazement as it rose out of the back of the truck, hovered gloriously in mid air and then splatted itself on Regional Road 9 leaving a tree outline of pine needles behind. Queue bonus swear word! Thankfully no one was behind us and there was enough left of the tree to have a reasonable facsimile of a Christmas tree.
The year our favourite tree farm closed was a sad one for us. Missing our annual treat of fudge that they always gave out, we drove around and around and around looking for a new favourite place. When we finally found a tree farm, we were too busy congratulating ourselves than to listen to the directions on where to find the trees. An hour later we were still walking forlornly dragging the saw behind us when we finally spotted a pine tree that would do the trick. We cut it down and dragged it up to the proprietor to pay him. Even though he didn't say a word, we are pretty convinced to this day that we somehow managed to wander off his farm and onto a neighbouring property where we hacked down the lone pine tree of some hapless farmer. Queue that farmer's swear word!
Finally last year, John got to realize his dream. He did not get home for Christmas until the 23rd and surprise upon surprise, all the tree farms were shuttered. John beat a hasty track to the nearest Home Depot where he haggled fiercely with the poor Home Depot employee on the price for one of the last remaining trees on their lot. When the tree got home and the netting was cut allowing us to get a good look at our tree...well John learned a few new swear words from us.
This year we were able to go tree hunting on our farm. As we gathered for the annual tradition, I pointed out to John that this year he could use a chainsaw. Every year John has muttered as we walk through the tree farms on the merits of using a chainsaw to cut down the Christmas tree. Why oh why did he have to use handsaws? One zip with a chainsaw and lickity split, the tree would be down. I never had an issue with it and would have been fine with a chainsaw but we all decided that the other families actually having a special family moment might be offended by the sudden rip of a chainsaw engine. No other families this year John, I tell him. Go for it! Use the chainsaw! Well that suggestion got our new swear word out in the open early in the process. Apparently he has come to enjoy the hand saw...who knew. Off we marched into the woods with someone sulking, someone else yelling, everyone arguing...all was right with our annual family tradition. We found our tree. We hacked it down. We hauled it home. Even the decorating was on par this year. No one could agree on the Christmas music. A Christmas decoration was broken as one is every year. A food fight ensued. But in the end, we proudly gazed upon our tree standing crookedly, laden with its hodgepodge of decorations and overlooked by an angel which now has only one wing. While John wandered off to bed with what looked like a bottle stuffed under his shirt, a cat gnawed on the electrical cord for the Christmas lights and the kids hauled on the hind leg of Daisy who was under the tree gnawing on a present. We never said we liked the colour rose or melodic music....
Merry Christmas from our family to yours!
The annual harvesting of the Christmas tree is one such family tradition. When John and I had our first child, I got it in my head that we needed to do Christmas the old tyme way by cutting down our own Christmas tree. John has been a reluctant participant in this process often clinging to his truck window commenting on the lovely trees he can see for sale in parking lot after parking lot as we drive into the country in search of our tree. There are certain things that can always be counted on during this annual tradition. John opining the need for it. Someone in the clan openly sulking in sullen silence. And the brand new swear word that we all learn at some point during the process.
I could write a book about our many adventures in cutting down the Christmas tree. There is the one year that John really upped the ante and decided to make the expedition historical. He had discovered a very old saw in the back of the barn that had probably been used by one of my ancestors. Thinking to bring history full circle by using this implement, it was the only cutting tool he brought with him that year. As John rolled about in the rain and the mud at the base of the tree we had carefully picked for our own, he beat upon the trunk with a saw that was as dull as a butter knife. Queue new swear word! In the end, I had to send our very young children off into the woods to play by themselves as they had already learned their one new swear word and the stream of words coming from underneath the tree was a little shocking for all of us.
Then there was the year we picked the magnificent huge tree which I really wanted rather than the smaller misshapen Charlie Brown tree advocated by John. It was a very heavy tree and we had to carry it quite a distance back to the truck. We had already learned our one new swear word by the time we arrived back at the truck so no one argued when John declared that there was no need to tie it down as it was heavy enough. Fifteen minutes later, travelling at 90 kms, we all watched in amazement as it rose out of the back of the truck, hovered gloriously in mid air and then splatted itself on Regional Road 9 leaving a tree outline of pine needles behind. Queue bonus swear word! Thankfully no one was behind us and there was enough left of the tree to have a reasonable facsimile of a Christmas tree.
The year our favourite tree farm closed was a sad one for us. Missing our annual treat of fudge that they always gave out, we drove around and around and around looking for a new favourite place. When we finally found a tree farm, we were too busy congratulating ourselves than to listen to the directions on where to find the trees. An hour later we were still walking forlornly dragging the saw behind us when we finally spotted a pine tree that would do the trick. We cut it down and dragged it up to the proprietor to pay him. Even though he didn't say a word, we are pretty convinced to this day that we somehow managed to wander off his farm and onto a neighbouring property where we hacked down the lone pine tree of some hapless farmer. Queue that farmer's swear word!
Finally last year, John got to realize his dream. He did not get home for Christmas until the 23rd and surprise upon surprise, all the tree farms were shuttered. John beat a hasty track to the nearest Home Depot where he haggled fiercely with the poor Home Depot employee on the price for one of the last remaining trees on their lot. When the tree got home and the netting was cut allowing us to get a good look at our tree...well John learned a few new swear words from us.
This year we were able to go tree hunting on our farm. As we gathered for the annual tradition, I pointed out to John that this year he could use a chainsaw. Every year John has muttered as we walk through the tree farms on the merits of using a chainsaw to cut down the Christmas tree. Why oh why did he have to use handsaws? One zip with a chainsaw and lickity split, the tree would be down. I never had an issue with it and would have been fine with a chainsaw but we all decided that the other families actually having a special family moment might be offended by the sudden rip of a chainsaw engine. No other families this year John, I tell him. Go for it! Use the chainsaw! Well that suggestion got our new swear word out in the open early in the process. Apparently he has come to enjoy the hand saw...who knew. Off we marched into the woods with someone sulking, someone else yelling, everyone arguing...all was right with our annual family tradition. We found our tree. We hacked it down. We hauled it home. Even the decorating was on par this year. No one could agree on the Christmas music. A Christmas decoration was broken as one is every year. A food fight ensued. But in the end, we proudly gazed upon our tree standing crookedly, laden with its hodgepodge of decorations and overlooked by an angel which now has only one wing. While John wandered off to bed with what looked like a bottle stuffed under his shirt, a cat gnawed on the electrical cord for the Christmas lights and the kids hauled on the hind leg of Daisy who was under the tree gnawing on a present. We never said we liked the colour rose or melodic music....
Merry Christmas from our family to yours!
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