December 7, 2024

It’s tradition. The day after Thanksgiving, we drive up to a particular Christmas tree farm and pick out a tree. There have been a few years that we haven’t done what we always do, and I suggested that we skip it this year. The girls rallied and insisted that we go because it’s what we do, so we went. I’m so glad we did.

It was freezing cold and so windy up on the mountain. We rode on the wagon pulled by a tractor, and got dropped off by the Fraser Firs. Just a short walk down to the Concolor Firs, and Momma was happy. The tree is always my choice, and my family never begrudges my pick. I think Paul actually found this one, but it’s never official until it has my stamp of approval, and once I laid eyes on her, I knew she was coming home with us. Paul went to flag down one of the chainsaw guys and told me to stand next to our tree so no one else could claim her. As if. There were no other tree customers in the Concolor side of the mountain. She was cut and driven down the mountain to the barn, and loaded into Gavin’s truck.

The pre-tree-decorating was fueled with tryptophan and carbs by lunching on Thanksgiving leftovers. The men folk gave the Pinaceae a fresh cut and settled her into her tree stand. “Is she straight? Which way does she need to go? Which way is she leaning? Toward the wall? Which wall? Wait…is she leaning toward the wall or do I need to lean her more toward the wall? Is she straight? Is she straight?? Hurry up! I can’t hold her any longer! Is she straight?”

This year I bought a new kind of lights. It’s a small ring that slides over the top of the tree then there are 16 strands of lights that hang down from the ring that stretch vertically toward the bottom of the tree. Thank you El Primo for that delivery. Each ring has 16 strands, and I bought two rings, and we used two regular strings of lights, so Grace and I put up 34 strings of lights. Uugghh. Grace and I always string up the lights, and I know that sometimes it’s a little stressful, and maybe I’m sometimes less than my pleasant self when we are putting the lights on the tree. I have failed to realize how traumatic that is for Grace. But it seems that Grace needed to take a shot of moonshine this year to ready herself for the annual stringing of the lights fiasco. I was offended and humbled at the same time, and I think next year I’ll take a shot too.

So the tree…Concolors have a citrus scent, so the house smelled like oranges when Grace and I were delicately nestling (read…frustratingly lassoing) the lights into the branches. More than a week later, she still smells amazing. She fully takes up the whole corner in the living room next to the fireplace, and she’s covered with all the sentimental ornaments with special memories and stories. One-legged Santa, red gummy bear, Nemo, the ceramic angel my Grammy made me in 1977, our yearly family ornament, the handmade trinkets from each girl, my Graylen teacup, and the Moravian star. She’s just beautiful in a thick sort of way. Maybe an athletic build, you might say. Her arms are full of a ton of memories, but she’s not at max capacity. Like my sentimental heart, she can hold a million more.

I’ve looked back through the past blogs about our trees, and we’ve had some wonderful gals spend the holidays with us. Not all of them concolor, but all of them delightful in their own ways. Big Betty, Darlene, Botox Bertha the artificial tree who took over the decoration responsibilities when Eliza Jane’s dehydration resulted in a premature demise, Darlene, and Gloria. I’ve been waiting to find words for this gal. The kids have asked me several times what her name is. It’s taken a minute to figure out who she is. I’m gonna give Mr. Mauk credit for sparking her name this year. He suggested Fonda, as in I’m fonda’ this tree. Corny, I know, but consider the source. But I like it, with just a little adjustment. So this year’s conifer is Fonda Rhonda, and I’m thankful she is joining my family for the Christmas season. We will make many dear memories around FR and she will listen to us laugh and cry and giggle and share and reminisce, and she will be part of what we remember next year and for many more years to come.