Neither Mr. S. nor I had a live Christmas tree growing up. Fake trees, yes, and my parents even have two of them.
(If getting a live tree is the most rebellious thing we do, I’d call us pretty darn good children.)
We visited the Homestead Pine Tree Farm early in December. Where to get the tree was an easy choice: the tree farm is owned by the family of one of my first friends here in town, and we love to buy local.
Which tree to get? That’s where things got tough. Live tree newbies, we just stared at the greenery around us. I felt a little like Goldilocks. Too big, too small, too skinny, too full, too green, too off-green . . .
We settled on a Douglas Fir that looked a little more Rockefeller Center than Charlie Brown Christmas.
My eyes widened as those in charge shook the tree free of loose needles, bundled it in netting, drilled a hole in its trunk for a tree stand and loaded it in the trunk.
Back in our parking lot, Mr. S. carried our tree out of the trunk and into the house. (He suggested I blog about the experience. The man knows just what to say to make his writer wife smile!)
The first thing we noticed was the intoxicating and delightful scent. I’m all for the scented candles, but the live tree smell just can’t be captured in wax.
We strung lights and hung ornaments.
Some of the ornaments are from my grandparents, but most are from our favorite big box store. The tree is a testament to Target’s holiday section.
I think it’s safe to say that no fake trees are in our future. I’ve dutifully watered it a few times a week and it’s still looking good four weeks later. Once you go live, you never go back. Merry (belated) Christmas, friends!