Traditions can be quite comforting, especially during the holiday season. They remind us of celebrations past, and of loved ones far and near. They bring us together, and connect us with the generations that came before us, who made our lives possible.
While I find it soothing to be able to run on automatic pilot, know exactly what’s expected of me, and rest merrily on the back of decades, sometimes centuries, of tradition, I’m also someone who loves to be different. I like to think outside the box. I like to zig when everyone else is zagging.
These two conflicting desires came into play for me recently, and resulted in a very unique and delightful experience.
I am someone who likes to have a live Christmas tree. I’ve had one pretty much every December of my life, and I can’t imagine switching to an artificial one at this late date. Part of the tradition, of course, includes obtaining the tree. On this, the second Christmas of my marriage, we’ve incorporated a new tradition that we started last year. We went to Pfaff’s Old Time Christmas Tree Farm to cut our own tree.
Pfaff’s is an amazing place, and not just because I like saying Pfaff. It’s a 30 acre tree farm in the middle of the otherwise densely populated coastal region of the Pacific Northwest. It’s fun just to walk among the wide variety of fir trees, searching for the perfect one, and breathing in the smell of pine sap.
We had pretty much braced ourselves for a long search, but in fact we came upon our tree almost instantly. This tree was like no other tree on the lot. That reason alone made us know it would be ours.
First of all, it was a blue spruce, and Pfaff’s has only 5 or 6 of those to begin with. We were told that that was because blue spruce spread disease among other trees. I have no idea. But I have a weakness for blue spruce. And this was like no Christmas tree you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t conical. In fact, it was a flat disc. Imagine a pancake. A pancake that is 7 feet in diameter. That’s our tree.
Apparently someone had taken the top of this tree off a few years ago, and probably had a nice, normal shaped tree as a result. Over time, what was left of the tree healed itself and prospered, to become what we were seeing on this day. Our weird, pancake tree.
It took us a minute or two to convince each other that yes, we really both wanted this quirky tree. The fact that we were of the same mind about this is one of the many reasons I married this guy. He started sawing away while I stood by, giggling quietly. (Note to self: bring the chainsaw next year.)
In no time, we had it upside down in the bed of our truck. I was convinced that Pfaff would pay us to get this strange tree off their property, but it was pointed out that its limbs would have provided many a valuable holiday wreath, so yeah, we paid up. (They did ask us to send them a picture once it was decorated, though!)
I wonder what other cars thought when they saw the long, naked tree stump sticking up from the back of the truck as we made our way home.
We had to rearrange a lot of furniture before we brought the tree into the house. This tree may not be tall, but it’s still the biggest tree I’ve ever owned. It was no mean feat just getting it in the door.
Decorating it was fun. We needed a grabber pole thingy to reach the back corner, and most of the ornaments were placed on top, kind of like Miss Muffet on her tuffet, rather than hanging beneath the branches. We both decided that a star on top would not be appropriate, as the whole tree was basically a top. But we stuck a few plastic yard flamingoes on there because we could.
We’ve yet to have any visitors over to weigh in on the results, but I’m very proud of our tree. The dogs are surprisingly indifferent about the whole thing. I suppose they’ve already accepted the fact that we are strange. To that I say that there’s nothing wrong with letting your freak flag fly.
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