O Christmas Tree

A friend with two daughters in their early twenties came to visit at Christmas. “Oh,” she said. “You have a tree!” She touched it. “And it’s real!”
I smiled and cheerfully answered “Yes. Always.” and we spoke of other things. But this is what I really wanted to say.
Of course I have a tree. If I didn’t, how could I hang up my first Christmas stocking and my first Christmas card? What would I do with the little angel I made out of pipe cleaners and kleenex when I was 8 and other family "heirlooms" that have been on Canadian, Jamaican and American Christmas trees over the years? What would be the point of the ornaments I bought in South Africa and Holland when I visited those countries? How useless would be those given to me by friends for the last 22 years!
And, of course my tree is real. That’s what it’s about. Bringing a real tree into your home. Did the Egyptians bring an artificial date palm into their houses during the winter solstice to symbolize life’s triumph over death? Did the Romans decorate their homes with synthetic trees at Saturnalia? Would the Druids have been able to keep evil spirits from their dwellings with “a discount ticonderoga pencil tree with convenient hinged branches that comes with a one year warranty”? Would little German children have been as impressed by a candlelit fake fir?
Of course, a non-driving person couldn’t do this alone. Over the years different friends have helped me get my tree home and obliging tenants have helped me set it up.
For the last several years, I’ve been helping a friend keep her own Christmas tradition alive as she helps me bring home my very own Christmas tree. Sallie and Jay used to take their three sons out to Nelson County, a largely rural area south west of Charlottesville, to get their tree from Mr Napier, a friendly Virginia gentleman with a small tree farm. Now those sons have moved away and had children of their own and Sallie and Jay go to far away to visit them for Christmas. So, Sallie takes me to Mr Napier instead.
He cuts my tree.

He measures it to make sure it’s the right size.

He ties it on Sallie’s car for us.

Then, I take her out to lunch at a nearby restaurant to say Thank you and we go back to Charlottesville.
I always imagine I’m going to put Christmas music on, make myself a cup of tea or hot chocolate and leisurely and calmly decorate my splendid tree, humming along to my CD. The reality is I work to deadline during the commercial breaks of a Hallmark Channel Christmas-themed movie a day or two before my first guests arrive.
But doesn’t it look splendid?