Dateline Boston — Every year we go to a parking lot in the next town to get our Christmas tree. We go in, pick a tree from all the other almost identical trees, sometimes haggle over the price, and they bring it across the street and strap it to our car. I never have paid more than $40 for a Christmas tree.
Over the years, I’ve asked my friends where they got their beautiful trees. Over and over, they’ve named a local farm. This year, I told the family that’s where we’d be getting our tree.
We pulled in one dark night with tons of other cars. The parking attendant got us into a tight spot (literally) by moving his arms so gracefully it looked like a performance piece. As we entered, there was a steel barrel filled with wood to make a fire. How quaint. Sounds of electric saws were everywhere. It was loud.
We wanted a small tree to fit in our small apartment. It looked like all of the trees were large—they were even separated by type of tree. Did we want a blue spruce or a northeast pine? We just wanted a small tree. After a few minutes, we found the small tree section. There were four to choose from. We selected one, and went to tell an attendant. I asked how much the tree was. He looked at the bottom, at a tag. He said it was $32. If I had been drinking hot cocoa, I would have spit it in his face. I could tell this was not a place for haggling. We took the tree.
Where Is Pay Window?
There was a gigantic line that we had to stand in to pay for our overpriced mini symbol of Christmas. On the way to the end of the line, we passed treats that could not be passed up—golden gravy, a delicious blend of vegetables in the form of spaghetti sauce, and popcorn that turned purple when it was popped. Throw in a purple mason jar as a present to my stepson (“Want this?” “ Yeah.”), and our bill came to a bit more than $32 after standing in a line with frustrated parents and fidgety children.
We put the tree in the tree stand when we got home. We discovered that our type of tree might have been a pine mixed with a cactus. It hurt to touch the needles. It had been cut at the bottom, so it was smaller than it had appeared at the farm. Husband filled the stand with water, and we waited until the next day to decorate it.
The next day, we decorated it with ornaments that were indestructible or not particularly sentimental, because of our two cats. Yes, we have enough ornaments that we can decorate a whole tree with ones we don’t care about. We have adorable felt ones that my mother made when I was a child. But Sister Cat’s fabric of choice is felt, so in the Christmas container they stayed.
The tree stopped drinking after two days. When I was putting the lights on, I noticed a big patch of brown, and the tree skirt was riddled with needles. In fact, every time you touched the tree, which you didn’t want to do because it was so sharp, needles sprinkled down all over the skirt and floor. One time, the cats were chasing each other, and Brother Cat’s beautiful white fur got shaved off from diving under the tree. We had selected a dangerous Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I resolved to love it the way it was, even though it was beginning to shrivel.
When I posted my woes on Facebook, more than one person told me that I could bring the tree back to the farm and get another one for free. Wow! I waited for Husband to get home so we could do just that. As a friend said, so much for loving the tree. Alas, that night it was 15 degrees below zero. So they stopped selling trees early.
A couple of days later, someone posted a tree for sale on our local listserv. We could get an 8-foot tree purchased for $100 for only $25! I asked Husband if he wanted a giant tree, and he declared that he was finished buying Christmas trees for the year. Bah humbug! We’re stuck with our treacherous timber.
Next year we’re going back to the parking lot, where they cut trees with quiet hand saws and no lines. I’ll even pay $45 for a giant tree. Merry Christmas!
Ms. Vaillancourt may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
