ANDRE BEGIN

When I was living in an apartment building, getting a real Christmas tree was frowned upon. In speaking with my property managers, they were concerned about the mess is could create for the superintendent through the lobby, elevators and hallways. Plus, there was a concern about risk if people didn’t remember to water them regularly. For those reasons, I managed my expectations and kept to an artificial tree to keep everyone happy.

However, the year I bought my first house, it was time to reconnect with my childhood memories and traditions. It was time for a real tree.

Once that decision was made, as soon as Halloween was over, the anticipation started building.

In November, I could feel the adrenaline starting to pump when I noticed the tree lots starting to set up. Then, in December, the strategy sessions began, trying to find the perfect date for tree shopping, early enough for a good selection yet late enough that it would still look and smell fresh throughout the holidays. I’d check the calendar and the weather forecast daily, trying to find a day when the tree wouldn’t be covered in a fresh snowfall to track into the house and on my professionally cleaned wall-to-wall carpeting. By process of elimination, the magic date to go tree shopping had emerged.

Then “T-Day” (Tree Day) arrived! I jumped out of bed with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning, thinking to myself, “Yaaayyy! It’s treee dayyy!” After a hot shower and hearty breakfast, I prepared myself for what could be a long search for the perfect tree.

I started with long underwear and big woolly socks, followed by a few wicking layers under my coat. For the top layer, I took out my heaviest toque and my snow shoveling gloves (not my “Sunday best” ones, in case I got some sticky tree sap on them). Because I knew I would be trekking through snow covered tree lots, I decided to tuck the bottoms of my jeans into the big woolly socks and then put on my waterproof winter boots.

I didn’t remember my dad getting bundled up to this extent to go shopping for a tree, but then again, he was always the warm one in the family, who radiated heat like a furnace.

As I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror on my way out, there was a familiarity to my look but I couldn’t quite place it. As I stepped outside in the cold fresh air, it occurred to me. I looked like the lumberjack from the paper towel ads. I didn’t worry too much about the fashion statement I was making. I was well-prepared for what could be a lengthy expedition.

I arrived at the first tree lot, admiring the many fine pre-cut trees to choose from. With so many different heights, widths and varieties to choose from, I didn’t realize the extent to which there was a whole flow chart of if-then-yes-no boxes to follow before finding the right one.

I perused selection after selection, much like I would admiring paintings in an art gallery. I was awed by the majesty of these beautiful creations, trying to visualize how each would look in the corner of my ten foot by ten foot dining room.

After a most enjoyable stroll through the lot, I found it. It was the perfect tree that brought back memories of the ones we had when I was growing up. It was around seven feet tall, a beautiful specimen of balsam fir, with nicely shaped branches and very fresh needles. I knew that there was no need to visit the other tree lots as this was definitely the one!

After paying for it, a kind gentleman running the lot wrapped it up with netting to help it keep its shape and compact profile, making it easier to slide it into my subcompact car for the drive home.

Upon arrival home, I took out the tree stand my mother lent me as she wasn’t using it anymore, having committed to an artificial tree herself. But as Murphy’s Law would have it, the tree stand decided it was time to take an early retirement as it wasn’t as secure as it used to be.

It was time for another wardrobe change to venture out to find a new stand. Surprisingly, this wasn’t as easy as I thought. Who would have thought that in mid-December, some stores would have already sold out?

Fortunately, on my fourth or fifth stop, a hardware store (that, ironically, I had passed on my way to and from the tree lot) had an ample supply of stands to choose from in a wide variety of styles, colours and price ranges. I quickly returned home to set the tree into its new home with a fresh supply of water.

Once I had the Christmas tree standing upright in the corner of my dining room, ready to be decorated, I already felt a combination of excitement and nostalgia. As happy as I was with my artificial tree to maintain my tree-trimming tradition, there was something special about a real tree that added to the feast for the senses.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude and appreciation for what my parents did, going to the time, energy and expense in buying, maintaining and cleaning up after a real tree. How lucky I truly was for their thoughtfulness, kindness and love in helping create memories to last a lifetime, which in turn, encouraged me to try to recapture that same magic in getting my first real Christmas tree, in my first house.

Did you enjoy this post? If you did, your likes and shares are most appreciated.
If you haven’t already, please check out the rest of my blog at andrebegin.blog. From there, you can click on the “Follow” button to receive future posts directly in your inbox.
Sincere thanks for reading!
Have a great day,
André