O Christmas Tree

A translation of the second verse of O Tannenbaum gives us these significant words: “O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree! Much pleasure thou can'st give me.” It’s likely that most Americans have fond memories of the Christmas tree, with its spreading branches and twinkling lights. But it’s quite possible that you, like me, have had some less than pleasurable experiences with the evergreens of Christmas.

As a young family, we began the tradition of cutting our own Christmas tree with a vision steeped in the scent of mulled cider and the dusting of snowflakes in the air.  We’d bundle the kids into the station wagon whether they wanted to go or not, determined to ‘make a memory’ that they’d cherish into adulthood. Despite muddy boots and cranky attitudes, we did succeed at creating a lasting memory in our final attempt at cutting our own tree, but it took quite a few days for our classic tree story to develop.

Upon our return home the tree waited expectantly for a number of days in our backyard, and I finally decided to get that lonely tree up and decorated, with or without the help of anyone else.  So with Christmas carols blaring, I wrestled it into the house, battled with the cantankerous three-legged tree stand, and triumphantly raised the tree to its full height – about a foot too high for our family room. 

So now what?  My husband was busy with the Salvation Army kettles, the boys at 6 and 4 were absorbed with their G.I. Joes, and I was determined to finish what I’d started.  Well, I’m a carpenter’s daughter, so how hard could it be to saw off a section of the trunk and a couple of lower branches?  Bad question.  After what seemed like hours of sawing, there was only a faint line around the trunk.  Plan B – what if I cut off the top of the tree, removed a few inches of the trunk where I could actually cut through it, and then somehow wired the top back on? 

The idea was doomed from the start, but I was desperate by that point, so did the dastardly deed.  An hour and yards of duct tape and garland later, I stood back and thought, ‘hmm, that’s barely noticeable.’  Right.  That’s why there is a chapter in the annals of the Shade family history entitled The Year Mom Cut Off the Top of the Christmas Tree, right before The Year We Bought an Artificial Tree.

That modest artificial tree served us well for 25 years, finding a comfortable corner in our homes in Philadelphia, Cleveland, Canton, and Ashland.  My husband did the honors of carrying it up from the basement, ready to coax it into shape for the Christmas celebration of 2012, but its bare and rather bedraggled branches stood unadorned in the living room for a few days, reminiscent of the tree of old in the backyard.

Before the tree decorating elf squeezed us into her schedule, I discovered that among the silent auction items at the United Way’s Holiday Happenings were five freshly cut Christmas trees, each trussed up like a turkey, ready to find a home for the holidays. Should I or shouldn’t I?   

Yes, I bought a real Christmas tree, sight unseen. Determined to surprise my family, I snuck it into the house while they were at the Jingle Bell Ball and set to work. Only one problem – our tree stand was the wrong size. So after a quick dash to the hardware store, it was déjà vu – one determined woman, one Christmas tree, and a stand with a warning sign: “do not use a hammer” – they must have seen me coming. But by the time the ball was over, the tree stood in our bay window, fragrant and beautiful.

The writer of the carol was right after all – O Christmas tree - much pleasure thou can’st give me.  The vision of the Christmas tree encircled with light, the wistfulness of memory, and the gratification of accomplishment (with no hammer, saw or duct tape) – all bring a sense of delight to our hearts. Indeed, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!