Christmas tree: check.
We live in a the land of tree farms filled with rows of fertilized, cultivated, manicured trees. For years, we’ve selected just that. A perfect Christmas tree.
But I’ve always wanted a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree. Untamed. Unpruned. Perhaps even unloved by anyone but me.
So this year, the children finally relented and let me have my tree. We didn’t go to the tree farm. We went to the home of a friend and we edged down a thorn-covered slope in search of a “not-so-perfect” Christmas tree. Snow had fallen in the night and the trees were deep in white. We shook the trunks. We evaluated the height, breadth and color of each prickly balsam. Finally we picked “the one.”
We labored to get the tree home, and I got a case of hives as I strung the lights on the branches. But when the Christmas music played while the children hung the ornaments, I knew we had just the right tree. The kind that would be perfectly content in our not-so-perfect home. Yes, all it needed was a little love!