The best part about having a real Christmas tree? Putting your boots on and heading out to find it, of course. We asked readers and friends to share their traditions and stories about going out each winter in search of that perfect tree. Here are a few of our favorite responses, from across the generations.
Photographed by Cara Slifka
From our December 2015 issue
[I]n 1972, our family was driving a 1963 Chevy Corvair van (with eight — yes, eight — doors). The boys sat on a raised bench behind, just opposite the four side doors. They were about 7 and 9 years old. The van had no heater, and the evening was raw — freezing and wet, with the rain verging on snow. Our toes were frozen. We’d driven to six different tree farms looking for the perfect tree without finding one we could agree on. We were hungry and tired, and my husband, Don, was getting impatient.
At the seventh place, he and I went looking for a tree alone, so the boys would at least be dry. Success! But I said we had to get the boys’ approval, and Don looked at me with steam coming out his ears. He hauled the tree to the van, opened those big side doors, and asked the boys how they liked it. Skip looked and said, “It’s too short.” Then the steam blew out the top of Don’s head, and he turned around with the tree and disappeared.
Five minutes later, he came back, opened the doors, and asked the boys how they liked this one. “Oh, that’s good!” Skip and Scott exclaimed.
When Don finished tying on the tree and hopped in the van, I whispered, “Where did you find that one?”
“It’s the same tree,” he said. “I just held it up.”
— Peggy Thomas, 75, East Haven, Connecticut
For many years after that, we would trudge through the snow, down the hill of the tree farm, with our old saw in hand and the dog running laps around us, seeking out the fattest, bushiest tree. Then, we’d toss it in the back of the pickup and head home for the best part: pouring eggnog and listening to Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas while we hung the cornstarch clay ornaments and the little crocheted stockings that my mom had made, way back when we got our trees from the Stop & Shop.
— Andrea Vassallo, 46, Newcastle, Maine
— Topher Mallory, 38, and Kristin Mallory, 37, South Bristol, Maine
Can we have a real tree again this year, Mom?
— Jade Olsen, 8, San Marcos, Texas