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Challenge of chopping down Christmas tree was daunting
By Debbie Farmer
I was shocked when my husband, who thinks a walk to the mailbox is a vigorous outdoor excursion, announced we were going to a get our Christmas tree from a living tree farm.
I couldn't figure out why he thought hiking into the wilderness to chop down a tree, hoisting it onto his shoulders and lugging it all the way back to the car would be more fun than driving to local tree lot and having a guy dressed as Santa tie it to the roof of our car. "Everyone get your hiking gear on," my husband said. "This year, we're going to find the perfect Christmas tree!"
"Yippee!" my children cried as they ran to their rooms to find appropriate attire.
Five minutes later they were ready. My son had on his cowboy boots, and my daughter wore a pair of plastic high heels and a pink feather boa. I convinced them into changing into waterproof footwear, but my daughter refused to take off her boa, so I wrapped it around her neck like a scarf and quickly ushered them to the car.
When we got to the tree farm, my husband went to the booth and got a hand saw from the attendant. We then trudged down a muddy path to search for the perfect tree.
"That one, Daddy!" my son pointed to a tree a half mile away on the side of a hill. I looked up and squinted. I couldn't tell if the tree was within the boundary of the farm--or on the border of the next state--but my husband trudged towards it anyway. We reached it 30 minutes later, and my children gathered around it while my husband poised the saw.
"Wait!" my daughter, cried. "How about that one?" She pointed to a tree down the hill, next to where we had been standing.
"No," he said between clenched teeth. "We are taking this one." He bent down and moved the saw as if he were giving the tree a manicure. His face turned red and sweat poured down his brow, but the tree didn't budge.
"You're not doing it right, Daddy."
"This tree is just too big," he said. "Let's keep looking."
We followed him back down the hill to where we had started. We continued our search until it began to get dark and we couldn't see any trees.
"The children are really enjoying themselves," my husband said. "Isn't it wonderful?"
I smiled, thinking that if we had gone to the tree lot, we could've been adding the angel tree-topper in the cozy living room by now instead of wandering around in the wilderness looking for a tree thin enough for my husband to file down.
"Ah-ha!" my husband said, pointing to what was either a short tree or a tall bush. "This is it!" He took out the saw. "Get ready to catch it as it falls."
"Timber!" My husband made two cuts and tree leaned over on its side.
My children applauded.
I figured at least it wouldn't make a big mess and, if it turned out to be a bush, I could trim it into Christmas topiary.
We paid for it, and my son proudly carried it to the car. When we got home, my husband mounted the tree on top of two phone books on the coffee table, and I got the box of ornaments from the closet. Five minutes later, we were finished decorating it, and I pulled the angel topper out of its special box. My daughter placed it on top of the tree and, as I watched it bend under the weight, I thought it would've been more efficient to dig up a sapling from the front yard and prop it up in the umbrella stand in the living room.
But, as the children arranged the Christmas lights on the branches, they didn't seem to notice anything wrong with the tree. Suddenly, I knew by the looks on their faces why my husband wanted to spend all afternoon at a tree farm instead of driving three blocks to the lot. He had given our children something more than a perfect tree.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
