One cold December day, my father had the great idea that this year we would be doing Christmas the Griswold Way.

We piled into the big blue truck and headed into the mountains of upper east Tennessee in search of that perfect Christmas tree. With shovels, picks, burlap, and nails in hand we headed up, what could only be described in my 10 year old little brain as the Mt. Everest of Tennessee, to locate “our tree.”

After an hour of, “Hey Dad, how about that one?”…”Nope, that’s not it.”…”Hey Dad, how about that one?”…”:Nope, not that one.”…we finally came to The Tree. My dad said it was THE ONE because of the shape, color, and hue. I think that “hue” was just due to lack of oxygen to the brain, but I was only 10….I was just excited that somehow my dad found THE ONE.

After an hour of digging and cutting roots and digging and cutting roots, we finally had the tree freed from the bondage of the soil around it. We started wrapping the tree ball with the burlap we received from the owner of the tree farm somewhere below at “base camp.” It was at this point that we, or my very learned father, should have realized that a tree ball four feet in diameter may be a little bit on the heavy side, but unfortunately we did not.

The entire time we were basically “killing” this tree, my dad was explaining how after Christmas we could take the tree out into the yard and plant it and have it to enjoy for years to come. He would say this as he cut through another life giving root, but we didn’t know any better. My dad was the smartest guy I knew, plus he promised us we could all get hot chocolate when we were finished, so I wasn’t about to point out the obvious.

We spent, what seemed like hours, removing THE ONE from the crater in the earth we had just created…a hole that could be seen from space. Once we had dislodged the tree from it’s home in the ground, my dad explained how gravity would help us get the tree to the truck. What he he really meant was that we were way too tired to try to carry the tree down this mountain side, and we would just start it rolling and stay out of its way. I remember this was actually the funnest part of the journey. Watching this formerly perfectly health tree roll helplessly down the side of the mountain, shedding needles as it tumbled toward ‘ground zero.’

Finally we reached the truck with the tree and for some reason it didn’t look quite as pristine as is did in its natural state. Branches were now broken, it was bleeding dirt everywhere, and the burlap wrap didn’t look nearly as neat as the ones the owner of the tree farm had already harvested….but that didn’t matter. We had gone into the wilderness and hunted down our trophy. Mom would be so happy with her MEN.

Then we tried to lift the tree into the truck. For some reason Dad failed to mention how gravity would work against us at this point of the journey. I don’t recall how the tree got into the bed of the truck, but it must have been due to the help of several innocent bystanders that felt sorry for these little kids and their Clark Griswold-like father.

My dad made good on his promise about the hot chocolate and it was well earned that day.

We arrived home and again gravity helped us get the tree out of the truck, but only after my dad overcame the coefficient of friction between the truck bed and the tree ball. But once again gravity would rear its ugly head when we tried to get the damned thing in the house. I am pretty sure I didn’t know that word until that day, but got a crash course in its context throughout the journey.

And here is the most important lesson I learned that day. A point of reference can make a world of difference. You see, when you find a live tree out in the wilderness, it is wise to take a tape measure with you because there are no houses or door frames or ceilings for reference. What might seem like a “nice sized, healthy tree” in the vastness of the wilderness, tuns out to be a 300 lb Goliath that can’t fit through your front door…or any door for that matter. Even after you try to downsize the tree ball, the nice little tree may be seven feet tall and you may end up cutting the top off so you don’t have cut cut a hole in the living room ceiling to fit the star on the top. Also I should point out, that you should also measure the tub you are going to be putting the tree in and cut the root ball LESS than that dimension. Just a tip.

I remember my mother watching us trying to get the tree in the house, with needles and dirt flying everywhere, and rolling here eyes as she usually did when my father did something this ridiculous, knowing she would have to clean up the mess.

Somehow we survived that day and the tree did too. We actually planted that tree out in the side yard after Christmas and it grew to be one of the biggest trees in our yard. I believe the tree survived that ordeal out of spite. It knew if it could make it out to the yard, it would provide a method of torture for us kids when trying to mow around it for years to come…scratching us, dropping sap on us, and being a regular nuisance for my entire childhood years.

But now, as a father myself, I look back on that experience and laugh and I thank God for a father that was brave enough…or maybe dumb enough, to provide his kids with a Christmas Tree story like that and I can’t wait to subject my own boys to such an adventure.

That’s still the best cup of hot chocolate I’ve ever had.

Merry Christmas, dad.

charlie-brown-christmas-tree.jpg

Vote is this week’s poll. Real of Fake Christmas Tree, and tell us your favorite Christmas Tree Story.

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 28th, 2007 at 11:24 pm.
Categories: Random Stuff.

Viewing 7 Comments

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    I think you might have been a little older or that was such an experience because I actually remember it. I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 at the time. I am sure that I helped out quite a bit as any 5 year old would have. Great memories! Definitely real trees and based on our childhood, I even have a hard time buying a tree that doesn't have a root ball and can't be re-planted.

    You forgot to mention the time that you and I planted one of our old Christmas trees. I think you were home from your freshman year of college and I was just hitting my teen years, which would explain our lack of enthusiasm when we dug a 2 foot hole and never took the burlap bag off the tree. Of course the inevitable happened, and by early spring that tree was a nice brown hue...Priceless
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    By my calculations, if you were 4 0r 5 then I was about 10 years old, which I stated in the post...
    Anyway, yes I remembering killing the tree you spoke about, and I was leaving it up to you to tell that story...as you did.

    I remember the tree we planted, of which you wrote about, and the fact that it slowly deteriorated and dad never asked any questions about it until it was listing at about a 45 degree angle. You would think that he would have said something before it got to that point, but unfortunately, dad had blind faith in his sons to perform tasks when it came to yard work. It only took him about 20 years before he started hiring other people's kids to do his dirty work.
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    I posted our tree story. No where near as funny as yours, but since I'm on heavy doses of cold medicine right now, it made me laugh.
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    Wait, the part of the story I forgot was that after you went back to college Dad did notice the tree and made me pull the tree out and re-dig the hole. I "worked" for about an hour getting enough space so that the ball would be fully covered by dirt (still didn't know enough to take off the burlap covering). I netted about another 4 inches then what we had previously. Still the end is the same, dead tree and stupid sons.
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    It's all true and I think the tree ball weighted about 300 lbs. What was I thinking except that it looked good on the side of the mountain but when we started digging I realized we had made a terrible mistake but I wasn't going to waste the $10 I paid for it.

    What I remember was the extra 100 lbs of red clay we carried down the mountain with us on our clothes and boots and eventually into the truck and home.

    I am pleased it turned out to be a pleasant memory cause it was agony that December day so long ago.
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    There needs to be another choice in the Xmas tree vote - "none at all."

    This choice would be for those who:

    1. Believe the tree is a pagan tradition or

    2. Are spending Dec. 22 thru Dec. 30 in the Caribbean
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    Point of reference is indeed important in Christmas tree selection. The farm where we cut down our second tree of the day yesterday provided a handy measuring stick. We still managed to wind up with a tree about 2 feet too short once we got it in the stand and indoors.
    our two christmas tree day experience
 

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