Oh oh Christmas Tree

This is to be our first Christmas season at home for almost a decade. And it will, of course, be our first in Nova Scotia.

My beloved is beloved of all things Christmas. If he could, he would celebrate 365 days a year. So when he said he wanted a real tree and a cut our own tree, I reluctantly went along. When he said he wanted it up and decorated on November 30. I reluctantly went along. My real concern is being bored with all things Christmas before December 25.

So off we drove to the tree farm I had found on line. I had emailed to make sure they would be open. So many on line results are old ones I have found. And things do change in the real world. I had the address right. I had the days of being open right. What I did not have right was the fact that we had arrived an hour and a half before opening and no one was there to listen to our plea for indulgence.

Fortunately, some people were walking a dog in the field nearby. And they told us of another farm just a few kilometres away. Off we drove. We found the place and it was open, although being mid-week, we were the only customers. We were directed by the farmer to the field across the road. There was a lane into it. The field was soggy, but with four-wheel drive we managed to enter. We trudged through, dodging puddles and small ponds until we found the perfect tree. It had been well pruned, was tall and fulsome.

We had brought along our trusty saw. It has cut down many a tree, and sawed off many a branch. Trusty, old and dull as it is.

The chosen tree’s trunk was unusually thick at the ground level. We took turns grunting, trying to keep from getting too wet, which meant bending awkwardly rather than kneeling in the drenched, muddy earth. One sawed, one yanked and finally the tree was free. We had brought twine to wrap it enough to fit into the back of our SUV. After all, we are old hands at cutting Christmas trees, even if it has been a very long time since we have done it.

We had even brought the new galvanized pail along that it would eventually be secured into for the duration. And of course our favourite hand pruning clippers were inside the pail too. Why either of these items were with us at this stage of the process, I am not sure. Unfortunately, the pail and its contents had to be removed from the car in order to get the tree in place. Meanwhile the pail and clippers we set on the ground beside the car. And there they remained as we drove away enjoying the pleasing scent of the freshly cut tree and delighted at our catch. Neither one of us noticed the missing items until we got home, far away from that soggy field. Perhaps the pail is still sitting there. Perhaps the friendly farmer found it and is wondering how it got there.

On the appointed day of erection, the tree was tested in the brand new galvanized pail that we had purchased upon realizing our loss. It fit just perfectly. No need to reduce its height. A few lower branches had to be cut off, however, so that it could nestle into the bottom. The pail was quickly tested for its water retaining capability. And we were ready to get to work.

A mat was set on the lovely pine floor. A plastic cover was set over it and the tree was inserted into the pail, which had been placed on the carefully prepared covering.

Rocks from our beach had been gathered at low tide the day before. These were artfully inserted one by one into the pail by John as I held the tree upright. The tree was now secure and in place. And the ritual decoration began.

Four strings of new lights were wound carefully around the tree from top to bottom. Our abundant hand-painted wooden decorations, collected over 37 years from around the world, were carefully hung from the branches. These had not seen the light of day for many years. And as each was unwrapped from its paper nest, we greeted it like a long lost friend.

Once the decoration was complete, an inspection made, and the result approved, the pail was filled with water to feed the thirsty tree and keep it fresh for the next month. And the lights were lit. Spectacular!

Before the finishing touch could be applied, a broom and dust pan were brought out so that I could sweep up the fallen needles from around the tree. We would then lay the red paper to finish off the floor covering. Down I got on my knees with dustpan and brush – My heart stopped. Time stopped. It was true: water was seeping out of the pail, slowly it seemed as it had not yet left the plastic for the floor. Panic!

We had to edge the laden tree, offending pail and mat toward the centre of the room where the ceiling was high enough to remove the tree from the pail, after removing each carefully inserted rock. Then we had to carefully lift the tree and shift it beside the pail without tipping either. A few of the ornaments fell indignantly to the floor nonetheless.

As I stood holding the tree in as vertical a position as I could manage, John took the dripping pail outside and dumped the water out. I remained holding the tree for some time as he completed some mopping up. Then he went in search of a plastic bucket, which thankfully fit perfectly inside the defective galvanized one.

The rocks were inserted once again. The tree was now secure once more. Then, carefully the whole package was shifted inch by inch back into its place in the corner of the room. Jug by jug the plastic insert was filled with water. We held our breath. And now the tree stands, we hope, set, secure and lovely.

Our backs, unfortunately have suffered, our muscles ache and exhaustion has set in. But we, like the tree, will recover. Oh Christmas Tree, oh Christmas Tree.