Travelingjenny

I have fond memories of choosing Christmas trees as a child, although I never actually did the choosing – this was most certainly my dad’s territory. It has always been a big joke in our family because my dad is very particular. Therefore, it was always difficult for him to find a tree that was worthy of display in our home. The tree had to "call his name." So, naturally, I would hide behind a tree that I liked and say his name in a very tree-like voice, hoping this would hasten the selection process so we could finally head home for some hot cocoa. For better or for worse, I seem to have inherited his refined eye for Christmas trees. Usually, Adam and I trudge around the farm, discussing at length the merits of several different trees before I finally find one that moves me. Not this year, however. This year, with Tess on my back in the backpack, and Adam pulling Gracie in a sled, we trekked towards a promising area at our neighborhood tree farm, and Adam pointed and said, "Let’s go check out that one." We stood, wordless, in front of the tree for a few moments, and then I heard myself say, "I like it!" It was very tall, and full, with only one easily-hidden bare spot. But I felt uneasy – certainly the first one we stopped in front of could not be the one. That would be too simple, and it went against tradition to decide so easily. But that tree was indeed the one. And so it was that our little girls, who had already spent almost two hours outside that morning, were spared the annual Christmas tree debates, and we headed home with the perfect tree. It was a Christmas miracle!