At some point last week I suggested to Adam that if we didn’t get our tree now, I’m not sure we’d be able to get one at all. He agreed. It’s just the nature of family life right now. The days feel uncertain in a way that is promised, as opposed to the uncertainty of all days, that mostly pass with an illusory veil of control. There are no illusions right now. There’s no time to waste.
We headed out in the early moments of the year’s first snow, making our way to the tree farm we’ve been visiting for at least a decade. This time, no kid in the backseat. Are we really doing this without her? I told myself it’ll be fine, that it might even be nice for her to walk into a glittery home, already decked to the gills.
So there we were, just the two of us at the farm. Excited children ran in every direction as parents attempted to corral them, but quickly relinquished their efforts to the freedom and thrill of the day. Friendly, organized attendants ushered everyone in this direction or that, depending on a family’s preferred tree variety. Passing by one of these attendants on our way to grab a saw from the stand, he asked what kind of tree we were looking for. “Balsam fir,” we answered. “Oh, we’ve got thousands of those! I’m glad you weren’t hoping for a Fraser fir, not too many full size this year, but next year we’ll have plenty. Head over to that wagon and Felix will take you down to the balsams.”
Wagon? Tractor? But we’re huff it and haul it kind of people! Not once have we ridden on a wagon to find our tree. Riding along in a cloud of diesel exhaust doesn’t exactly evoke the Currier & Ives experience. Adam and I both froze momentarily, knowing exactly what the other was thinking (“How do we graciously decline?”), but in the next moment felt swept up in the kind instructions we were given, and Felix looked like a friendly guy who was pleased with his job of driving a John Deere around a Christmas tree farm all day. We had the wagon to ourselves on the ride down to this year’s balsams, which happened to be a field located in the far reaches of the 300+ acre farm, a corner that us huff-it-and-haul-it people had never ventured to before. It wound up being a solid five minute downhill ride into the valley. Probably would have been a 20 minute return had we been on foot. Uphill. Hauling a tree. We’d already sensed Felix was a good guy, maybe riding the wagon was alright, too.
We found our perfect tree and on freshly snow-covered back roads, made our way home. Adam put the snow blower on the tractor and I put together a pot of venison stew. Later we watched It Happened on 5th Avenue and set up our tree, loading her with warm incandescent lights. We did not add ornaments that day, and still have not. Maybe it will happen with Emily.