Traditions & Transitions

One of my favorite traditions has always been the annual trek to the tree farm for our Christmas tree. Snow gently falling (in the form of rain here in Oregon) and lots of mud on the ground, we search for a tree twice as large as we can handle, and then wrestle it onto the car. Generally the tree is as a large as our little Subaru. Today we borrowed a truck and a chainsaw which made the wrestling a bit easier. I must be getting old.

This also marks the first time in 19 years that my oldest, daughter, Eliza, did not join me in the search for the biggest, best tree in the world - she's studying for finals at the university and won't be home until next week. I can still vividly remember walking through the rolling hills of Western Pennsylvania coal country 19 years ago looking for our first tree together. She was in a baby backpack and it was just the two of us. We hiked through the new fallen snow and she made cooing noises in my ear. The cooing has changed over the years, but she's always been there to offer advice about which tree to cut.

This year her sister, Lillian and I tried to honor Eliza's keen sense of tree perfection. This is the one that now sits in the living room - awaiting the day next week when the whole family will gather round and decorate the tree with a menagerie of well-loved ornaments, some of which have been passed down through the generations. It's one of the highlights of my year.