Every December, on a brisk, chilly morning, we’d bundle up, pile into our SUV, and head out—prepared to drive what felt like a hundred miles—to find the tree. My husband and I started the tradition before kids, and once they came along, well, that sealed it for us.
I can still picture it so clearly, the year Connor was strapped to my back in a backpack, the four of us trudging through snow. And Hannah—tiny, bundled in her fuzzy red snowsuit, hood tied tight around her little china-doll face, hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation, pink cheeks and that huge smile—helping us pick the best tree on the hill. The magic of Christmas alive in that field.
They watched wide-eyed as their dad cut it down. “Connor, look! That’s our Christmas tree. Do you love it?” Then we’d hop on the tractor and rumble back to the shed, triumphant, ready to bring home the perfect tree.
We’ve hiked, searched, and hauled home trees for 30 seasons. Sometimes just the four of us, sometimes with friends. Over time, hot chocolate, sugar cookies, and a sweet family photo somehow turned into Hot Toddys, donuts, and a few selfies. Every year that spins by I look forward to this favorite tradition.
Of course, it wasn’t always picture-perfect. There were definitely tears, fights, runny noses, cranky kids and cranky parents… and a few trees that were, shall we say, downright ugly. One year my husband lost his wedding ring somewhere out there. I replaced it. Another year the fully decorated tree toppled over and most of Connor’s “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments shattered. I replaced them. And yes—there was the year the tree was so awful I went out and replaced it, buying one from a parking lot. But looking back, it was all perfectly imperfect.
Neither my husband nor I grew up cutting down trees. I grew up with an artificial tree and always dreamed of a real one. I never liked our fake tree. Every Christmas my neighbor Jill’s family had a beautiful real tree that smelled of fresh pine and that’s all I wanted. “Maybe someday.” I’d think.
This year, though, our usual outing just wasn’t happening. The kids are working, in grad school, busy with life. We planned one day that could have worked—but it poured rain. I think it’s the universe saying to me, “Girlfriend, it’s time to let go.” I asked each of them if they were OK with us going without them, and both came back with an enthusiastic, confident “All good Mom!”
And you know what? I’m not sad. I honestly thought I might be. But I’m thrilled they have full, busy lives. Now it’s our turn to figure out the new version of this tradition. It started with just the two of us. Maybe Gene and I will still cut one down. Maybe we’ll just drive up the street and grab one. Maybe we’ll even get a fake tree. Funny how time has a way of shifting and softening us.
Enjoy!
Regina
Here’s a list of Christmas Tree Farms we put together!!
