Memories of Christmas trees

One of my strongest childhood memories about the Christmas season is picking out the perfect tree. I know that everyone does this. You visit several lots, hold up and inspect a multitude of trees, inspecting it from all sides to make sure it's "the one." But finding the perfect tree was a really big deal in our house. It had to be an Alpine or Noble fir. Their narrow build was perfect for the space in our living room, in front of the wall of windows that soared from floor to the highest beam. And it could be as tall as it wanted: our vaulted ceilings would take a 20 foot tree (but we never found one that tall).

As important as the Christmas tree was, it seemed hard to get out there and find the tree early in December. Every year there was some reason or another to wait until the last minute (or maybe we were just a family of procrastinators). I remember one memorable year when I was in high school, when my dad & I went out on Christmas Eve to pick out a tree. There weren't many to choose from, but we finally found a Noble that fit the bill… and we liked it in spite of the crooked trunk. Not just a bend or a wow. The entire trunk had so many angles, it was as if the tree couldn't decide which way was up, and kept changing directions as it grew. But the tree stood straight and proud in the stand, and for years my Mom remembered that tree as one of her favorites.

Decorating the tree was an all-day task. While the tree soaked in a bucket of water, Dad would get out the boxes of ornaments and strands of lights from the storeroom off the living room. While we kids untangled the box of wire ornament hangers, Dad would untangle the strands of lights and test them to make sure all the bulbs worked. He never put them away with a burned-out bulb, and always grumbled when he found dead bulbs the next year. It was one of life's mysteries that we never figured out. So he'd send us off to search for the box of spare bulbs, and eventually find it buried in a box of ornaments.

Once the lights were untangled and connected together, he'd start to string them, starting at the top of the tree and working his way to the end. He had his own particular style: lots of lights, so every branch would twinkle, and never ever drape the wires where you could see them. So it took a couple of hours to light up the tree. While he strung lights, Mom would keep us busy decorating sugar cookies at the dining room table, a plan designed to keep three little girls out from under my dad's feet.

Then finally, it was our turn. We got out all the boxes of ornaments, spread them out on the floor, and unwrapped the special ornaments from cocoons of tissue paper or kleenex. These were set carefully out of harm's way, and each was ooohed and aaahed over as they were unwrapped. The striped bells. The fuzzy Santa Clauses with bendable legs that wrapped around a branch. The small painted china bells. The spun glass angel and St. Nick, that went at the top of the tree. The burgundy and silver mushrooms. The clear snowflakes, decorated with bits of gold glitter placed by tiny hands. And all the ornaments that my dad made: balls covered with spun threads, decorated with ribbon and lace and sequins, each one different.

We hung all the favorites first. Everything that was special for some reason went on the tree first, and was carefully placed, scrutinized, and adjusted until it was perfect. Then we filled in with colored glass balls, so the tree sparkled and glowed with rich colors.

Each year my sisters & I claimed one branch as our own, and got to decorate the whole branch. There were always minor squabbles over who got to have what special ornaments for "their branch." My theme was different each year. One year I brought out my tiny horse collection, and turned the branch into Santa's stable.

I can still remember lying on my back next to my sisters, and looking up through the branches at the ornaments that turned a tree into a beautiful expression of one family's love of Christmas. The memories of decorating those long-ago trees with my sisters, my mom and dad, are ones I will always cherish.