Santa looks for the tree
We broke down and bought our Christmas tree on the weekend. No biggee, right?
You and I both know it can be routine: “yeah, that one looks good. Chuck it in the back, would ya?� You pay your money and you get your pine.
Factor in two kids under the age of six and you have something else. Procuring a Christmas tree assumes mythic proportions because it not only ushers in the season in a very tactile way, it signifies elfin magic, Yuletide spirit and all things bright and beautiful.
Yep. I make a big deal of it, much to my wife’s chagrin. She prefers a low-key approach so the kids aren’t ballistic by the time Christmas Eve arrives. Hey, I’m all for that - though I recognize the value of excitement, too. Getting the tree creates anticipation, so I tend to play it up by singing carols, musing about the decorations and whether we’ll opt for a big one or something more conservative.
Our destination of choice for the past three or four years has been Ravenswood Farm in Coldbrook. I’ve said if before and I’ll say it again: these folks have fabulous trees, fresh as all get-out and their hot apple cider can’t be beat.
Our big girl was already on about it in the car as we motored west out of Kentville, recommending it to her little brother and suggesting he should try some this year. He was too young last year to consider even a sip, but she worked her magic on him as we drove and he was rarin’ to chug the whole container.
We browsed the rows of trees, holding up this one and that. I’m not a patient shopper; if truth be known, I like to get in and get out in the shortest time possible. But purchasing such an icon of the holiday season is not something done in a minute or two. One must sustain the moment and make the perfect choice to satisfy all interested parties.
So it was with us. We pondered: too tall; too squat; too bushy; not right. Our big lad strode into various thickets, sticking close to dad but willing to point out his preference whenever it struck his fancy.
As luck would have it, we found THE ONE. It fits the nook in our living room precisely and everyone’s thrilled. We went so far Sunday evening as to hook up a few lights and, boy, didn’t they shine in their eyes.
The kids wondered as they went up to bed if they could go back for another cup of cider before Christmas and were absolutely convinced, now the tree’s in the house, Santa would find us for sure. I agreed he’d have a real good shot at it, by golly, and then we all settled in for a long winter’s nap.
Therein lies the beauty of such Christmas ritual and why a silly old cuss like me makes more of it than perhaps I should. It’s festive, fun and communal – a great way to spend time. And I do think they’re right.
Santa will find us now that the tree’s in place. I just know it, I know it, I know it!
