Originally posted Dec. 5, 2007

My husband loves nothing more than tromping off into the woods—so very Park Ranger of him—to find a Christmas tree. Bless it, those trees are not exactly what I grew up with.

I grew up just down the road from my grandparents in Mississippi, and I lived for Christmas. Right after Thanksgiving, a beautiful tree would be delivered to their house. Granddaddy Roy would call and say, “Come on over, it’s time to decorate the tree!” It was our special little ritual—just the two of us—because I lived in a house full of boys. Of course, my grandmother Bay sat nearby directing our every ornament placement. But now that I’m the woman of the house, I understand completely.

I honestly didn’t realize people went out and cut their own trees until junior high, when Bay and Roy decided to get a little progressive and take us to one of those Christmas tree farms to “experience” picking and cutting our own. Oh, the memories… My brother—the same one who once shot me with a BB gun—was somehow entrusted with the saw. And by “entrusted,” I mean he chased me with it while Bay, ever the proper Mississippi lady, gave me that look that said, Are you behaving like a proper young lady?
Ma’am, he had a saw.

Even so, the trees at those farms were picture-perfect, like the ones in magazines.

Fast forward to my first Christmas at the mountain park. I was so excited to get my very own Christmas tree. Well, Big Buckaroo thought paying for a tree was ridiculous. He kept promising we’d go cut one, and then—just a few weeks before Christmas—after dinner in town, he noticed the trees outside Big Star were on sale. And just like that, our first Christmas tree came from the grocery store. It was a little gapped up, but in my newlywed glow all I saw was my big strong man making my Christmas wish come true. Now, looking back at the pictures, I have… thoughts.
And the next year? Same Big Star. Bigger gaps.

Then came the cut-your-own-tree years. Now, I adore my husband, but the novelty of a Big Star tree had fully worn off. We had just moved into our newly built home, and I had visions of sugarplums—and magazine-perfect trees—dancing in my head. What goes on in my head is usually what gets me in trouble. So I thought, Alright, maybe we’ll cut down a tree as beautiful as the ones Bay and Roy used to get.

Delusional.

That first tree had maybe seven branches. Total. And things did not improve much in the following years.

Last year, our first year at this Park, they cut several trees to decorate the historic homes. Now, these were some sad trees, but at least they were historically accurate for the mid-1800s. Maintenance guy Bo brought me two trees to choose from—leftovers, meaning not even good enough for a rustic frontier cabin. I picked the one with nine limbs. I thought I was moving on up. Unfortunately, all nine limbs were on the same side. No problem—I just put it in a corner and kept on moving.

So this year, when Big Buckaroo said there were no extra Park trees, I felt a wave of relief. That lasted until he said, “We’ll just walk around our eight acres and find one.”
UGH.

We eventually found one, he cut it down, and it’s now standing in my living room. Honestly, it’s probably the best tree we’ve had in years—though that’s not saying much.

Little Buckaroo and I decorated it yesterday. I let him choose the decorations himself—very hard on my inner Martha Stewart. But I want him to have the same kind of sweet memories I have of decorating with Roy. After he went to bed, I may have moved a few ornaments up the tree since they were all at his eye level or below. (Martha Control Freak strikes again.)

I’m learning to love these imperfect parts of my life. I still have the occasional urge to be Snoopy with all the pretty lights and prize-winning baubles, but then I look at my little Charlie Brown tree and remember…

I am one blessed wife and mother.
(And this year, I even have more branches than usual—ye-haw!)

Here is this years tree undecorated, lots of light coming through where branches should be.
Idea for people with little ones -since I decided to go rustic with decorating the tree, I put it in a big bucket (oh, Big Buckaroo just corrected me, this is a wash tub). This not only adds to the rustic feel, but also makes it harder for little ones to get close to the base and knock the tree over.


Here is a picture of the tree decorated.