When I was a little kid, procuring a Christmas tree didn’t seem that difficult. My parents simply piled their three little girls into the back of our rusty, lime-green suburban (I think it was a left-over from the Wisconsin forestry department?), and rumbled off into the forest. The perfect Christmas tree would be waiting within easy walking distance of the road, and I didn’t even have to help pull it back through the snow! Things aren’t so easy now that I’m grown.

Last weekend, Dan and I made our first attempt at a Christmas tree. We found a beautiful tree (and not just in the Charlie Brown sense), and we loaded it into the pick-up with ease. But…Dan forgot to tie it down. Yes, I say Dan forgot, because tying down the tree is not in my wife-ly job duties - just like picking up socks is apparently not in his job description, as you recall =). The tree flew out of our truck bed barely two miles from the vendor’s stand. And then our trailer ran over it. It didn’t survive.

We had killed a tree! I felt horrible. So horrible, in fact, that for tree #2 (the same day – I wasn’t giving up yet) I picked a less-beautiful tree, as if I was slightly undeserving of a regal pine now that I’d killed one of their brethren. Tree #2 made it home, thanks to some sturdy twine, and we decorated it that evening. It was gorgeous! A few glittery bulbs can do a lot for balding branches. Unfortunately, my two devil cats found the Christmas bulbs just as attractive, and when they leapt into the tree to explore, the tree toppled over, took out my coffee table, and broke its neck. Tree #2, down.

Tree #3, taken straight from the forest, has thus far survived. We picked it quickly, without much discretion, yesterday evening. On our way back down the long, twisty, backroad, I was surprised by how deeply we’d wandered into no-man’s-land. It had seemed like such a short jaunt in – but it was taking forever to get out! We rounded one more turn and - AH! - almost skidded into a rusty, red suburban stuck in snow. Inside, an older man and his wife were trying to dial out on their cell phones, catching only static. Dan was happy to swing his truck around and tow the couple out of their predicament. They breathlessly wished us happy holidays, gave up their own search for a tree, and headed back toward civilization.  

In the end, I was frustrated and worn out by my Christmas tree search. My parents weren’t here to do the dirty work (though they’d just laugh if I asked them now!), and we got pretty beat up for our efforts. But last night, while relaxing on our saggy old couch with hot chocolate and leftover stir-fry, I basked in the glow of our Christmas tree lights.  We had helped somebody out of a jam, thanks to tree excursion #3. If we hadn’t been driving down the road just then, that couple could have had a very dangerous night. As I sipped my cocoa and pondered whether there are any true coincidences in life, my realtor stopped by to deliver some holiday rum cake. Karma or a blessing, coming back around.