The Christmas Tree Search

The smell of pine always reminds me of winter and brings back so many memories. Lately, my parents have stopped getting real Christmas trees. This season has been less enjoyable, too. I miss the adventure of finding the biggest, tallest tree that would fit in our house. I miss how the scent would fill every room. Picking out a tree was one of my favorite Christmas traditions since I was little, and I hope to do it again as an adult. Unfortunately, real trees became too expensive, so my parents switched to a fake one. Even so, I still wish for a real tree and that magical pine smell.

When we were kids, the four of us would try to agree on which tree to bring home. We’d visit the local tree farm and check out all the options, trying different types over the years before settling on blue spruce. Running around the farm, searching for the fattest tree, was always exciting. The hills seemed so much bigger as I was the child trying to get my chosen tree picked. Sometimes we argued, but we always picked a winner. It was a special time of bonding as the chosen tree was tied to the car. There were years when we made a quick choice, like when I was sick, and my parents just grabbed a precut tree. Other times, we spent ages debating. I miss when my dad brought his own saw to cut down our tree. We’d help hold it steady and felt proud to be part of the tradition. Afterward, Dad would drag the tree to the front, and we all had fun. Those were happy, simple days. I remember running through the fields in search of the perfect tree. One year, the saw would not work, and I tried to help from under the tree. We barely made progress. In the end, a worker with a chainsaw finished the job in a minute. Looking at old photos brings back how much I loved those times. It was a simple adventure, but one I will always cherish.

In the last year, the local tree farms near us didn’t have many good trees left, or they were closed when we visited. In the last year, we picked out a tree. I went with my oldest nephew because I wanted him to have good memories, too. The farms we tried didn’t have any trees that would work—they were either too small or too big for the house. It was disappointing, since I remembered so many great trees from those fields. Each place was worse than the last, with less selection. My nephew did not seem to mind as he was being active, but I could only see the barren fields that once held lush trees. We had to look elsewhere since the local ones had nothing to offer. Eventually, we had to drive to another state, where the trees cost even more. The gift shop was nice, and the selection was better. Though blue spruces were not quite what we wanted, there were some precut trees in a barn. My nephew followed along in his big coat, tiny hat. As we entered the barn, it felt a little spooky to me, with trees hanging from the ceiling by ropes, almost like a scene from a scary movie. The barn was well-kept, but the trees were oddly arranged, at least to me. The maze they created was strange, and I was glad when we decided on the tree. My nephew didn’t seem to notice, and we finally found a beautiful, plump tree. It was the last real tree we had. After shaking out the bugs, my dad tied it to the car roof. We stopped for lunch, and my nephew enjoyed his ice cream. The ride home was special, seeing Christmas through his eyes.

After that, we started using a fake tree, but it just wasn’t the same. I hope real trees become more affordable someday. The artificial tree looks nice, but it doesn’t have that classic pine scent that used to fill our home. Losing this tradition has always mattered to me, and I miss the beauty of a real tree. Somehow, the real ones always seemed bigger once we got them inside. The fake tree is small and skinny, but it does the job. I still hope we’ll go back to a real tree and watch its branches settle. Even though the season is still beautiful, I miss that old tradition. Christmas will always be special because of the memories of picking out our tree. Reflecting on my childhood and seeing it now has changed, but the sense of family time has not. Still, I miss the tree's aroma and the hunt for it, too.