Each year since getting married, Brett and I have gone to Stoke’s farm in Scottsville and cut down a Christmas tree. I’m all about the real Christmas tree; the fresh cut pine smell, the softness of the needles as you run your hand down a branch. Plus there is always bonus of thousands of pine needles strewn about the floor and sappy branches.
We have an artifical tree in our basement, but I just can’t bring myself to put it up. Perhaps, in some unconscious way, I’m just refusing to replicate my childhood memories of artificial, plastic Christmas trees; especially white ones. I realize there are advantages to the artificial tree. Easier setup, no need to freeze your butt off to acquire, and less likely to burn down your house.
Of course, artificial trees win out in terms of fiscal responsibility but where is the fun in going down to the basement to uncover a fake tree. There is something special about gathering your family and trekking out in search of the perfect tree. Tromping through a snow ridden field just so you can take that first slice through the trunk. Rigging the tree to the top of the family SUV in hopes that it won’t get ripped off on the drive home.
I’ve also made it a tradition to name our Christmas tree each year. Listen Lady, its a living object we took from nature, the least we should do is provide it a name. Some years we go for a more traditional name (Douglas) while other times we spring for a more ethnic flavor (Francisco or Sanchez). This year I decided I was going to let Cardin name the tree. After all, I do need to pass along this tradition.
At first she wanted to name the tree, baby Diego, but I nixed that idea since she has also dubbed the baby that. I thought it might get confusing; not for the baby, but for the tree. After some deep contemplative thought, she came back with the name “Pig Tail”. Thus forth, the tree for 2011 was named pig tail. I commend her for her choice; the name is both unique and yet gender neutral.