The weekend was a big one. Time to get the tree. My oldest was thrilled. Before breakfast, during breakfast, after breakfast she asked, “Are we going to get our Christmas tree now?” Two minutes later, “Now?”

Driving halfway back to the Twilight Zone we looked for our “Pick Your Own Christmas Tree” spot. Seeing the sign on the side of the road up close, we discovered it didn’t open until mid afternoon. And it didn’t carry the sort of tree we wanted. We were looking for firs and it carried only pines.


After making a few phone calls, we located a place nearby that seemed promising. Driving another twenty minutes, we looked for the turnoff. But what we saw first was the eye-opener. A Jolly Red Giant reached high above the trees, making the lot hard to miss.

Standing there was a very, very, very large inflatable Santa.

My oldest excitedly jumped out of the car (after I had parked it that is), while I loaded up the little one in the bjorn. Santa was a magnet, drawing all of us to him. To do what, I’m not sure, except maybe just to stare.  There’s nothing like a man taller than a telephone pole to renew one’s sense of awe.

I wonder if he could take King Kong?

Once our necks were tired from looking up at his beard, we turned our attention to the assortment of trees. Tromping through the fraser firs we slipped into a game of hide and seek. We stumbled upon and over a grove of small, less than perfect trees, labeled “Charlie Brown.” For the perfect price of a box of diapers.

After several rounds of the game, we wrapped up and started the serious business of picking just the right tree. We circled through the lot again, assessing the viable options.

Then we saw it.

A huge tree in Luxury Lane.

There, in the midst of the jolly green giants, was one marked way, way down. Turns out, it was a Charlie Brown tree, too. A little lopsided, a little sparse in places, but we loved it instantly. All eleven feet by six feet of imperfection!

Monstrosi-tree would have come up to Inflatable Santa’s belly button, give or take a foot I’m sure. My husband and the proprietor wrangled it into its web of netting and hoisted it onto the roof of the car.  Definitely a ten on the grunting scale.  Although, I’m not really sure who grunted first.

Arriving home my husband moved Monstrosi-tree from the roof of the car. By himself. What was he thinking, he was Superman? Given the tree’s superhuman size, it was difficult to maneuver and it took a plunge over the edge. As it hit the ground we heard a big SNAP. The tip of the tree had broken.  Me, Disgruntled Wife, sniped some grinch-like snoots. Our eleven-foot tree had just been downsized to ten!

Regardless, we were all pretty happy with our prize. There was plenty of tree leftover for everyone. And it served up really well with some warm afternoon snacks.


Content originally written and published by ClunkyShoe December 13, 2010.  The second story in a series of three.  The tradition continues . . . .  🙂