As of today, January 10th, our Christmas tree still holds its place of honor in the living room, in front of the window that looks out onto the street. I'm sure many of our neighbors wonder why they still see its lights twinkling in the darkness as they drive by our home. But unless you follow me on social media, you may not know that this tree has not been up for very long. It's an understudy, called to step in on December 18th when our first tree could no longer play its role in our Christmas story.
Tree #1 (we'll call her Betty) was felled during Thanksgiving weekend, a complete departure from past timelines of choosing and chopping the tree sometime around mid-December. This year, our daughter -- a recent college grad -- pleaded her case for starting the holiday festivities early in an effort to make up for years spent at school while the rest of us traipsed through the tree lot, saw in hand, comparing one evergreen to the next and making a case for one over another.
At first I was hesitant, my Christmas m. o. has always been to cram everything (shopping, baking, wrapping, decorating) into the final two weeks of December. Putting our tree up before the month even began would start the Christmas ball rolling a full two WEEKS early. What would I do with all the extra time? Who am I if I'm not stressed and frazzled at Christmastime?
"Okay," I reluctantly agreed, "We can get the tree over Thanksgiving weekend." Our daughter was thrilled. We left for the cut-your-own tree farm late Saturday afternoon with high hopes of securing a tall tree this year. (Past experience had proven that the later in the season you go, the shorter the trees are to choose from.)
Betty was massive at 8.5' tall and 5' wide. She teetered atop our Chevy Suburban as we watched anxiously through the sunroof to make sure she didn't slide off during the ride home. It was dark when we arrived at the house, so Betty slept outside that evening. In the morning, my husband and youngest were feeling under the weather. "We'll wait until you're feeling better (to bring Betty in)," we said. The days turned into a week when both of them tested positive for Covid and I followed suit. Poor Betty spent seven nights on the roof of the Suburban.
The family recovered and we brought Betty indoors. Once inside, she monopolized our living room, filling the width of our front window and blocking the TV from the corner chair. She was magnificent! After an evening of decorating, Betty glittered with the light of 800 colored bulbs, proudly displaying our family's ornaments on thick branches of perfect green needles.
Until she didn't.
Within a few days, we started noticing an abnormal number of needles blanketing the floor beneath Betty. "It's the shock of being indoors," we thought. The following day, after another round of vacuuming, "The dogs must be bumping into her," we surmised. But finally, after two weeks of sweeping endless piles of needles, we cried out "What's wrong with Betty?!" I didn't want to admit that our perfect tree wasn't going to last until Christmas. I continued to sweep until my husband finally took me aside, "Look Bets," he said, gently, "I think we're going to have to replace her."
Whatever time advantage I had gained by getting (and decorating) our tree early, was lost in having to UN-decorate and UN-light Betty, drag her outside and introduce Ted, tree #2. Ted was purchased from a local tree lot for 50% off. The owner of the establishment offered my husband the discount after hearing Betty's sad story. Ted was one of only six trees they had left. Bush-shaped and only 5.5' tall and 3.5' wide, he's a mere shadow of the tree Betty was. When my husband brought him home, it was difficult for us to hide our disappointment. To make matters worse, Ted's branches grew so close together that our ornaments didn't actually hang, but instead had to lay flat on the outside of his thick pine shell.
Unfortunately, there was no turning back. Stripping Betty of her adornments had removed the last of her needles, creating a trail of green between the front window and back door. Determined to make Plan B (aka Ted) a success, I located our giant pruners and got to work, removing every other layer of branches, creating space to tuck the lights all the way back to the trunk where we could hang shiny balls to "disco" their reflection. I admit, the end result was somewhat miraculous. And though Ted could never achieve the stature of our original tree, he is a solid understudy. Ted has stayed green to this day, providing the sparkle of 600 lights (that's all he can hold) to help combat the dreariness of January. Thanks Ted.
[Photos below: Ted the hero, Betty in her heyday, Betty's bitter end.]
