I have a special Christmas tree stand I purchased years ago at a tree farm. It has a tapered spike that is mounted on three steel legs and is mounted within a plastic container that is designed to hold water for the tree. There is a rubber gasket that keeps the water from running out of the bottom. While at the tree farm, they will drill the hole in the bottom of your tree so it is easily mounted.
The main issue is if you don’t go back to the same tree farm the next or following Christmas seasons, any hole you drill in your own tree will not match up with the spike on the stand… and you have leaning problems… and unhappy decorators…
I inspect the gasket every year in the stand and make sure I spray WD-40 on it to make sure it doesn’t dry out… I make sure the plastic is secure and the stand is ready for a new tree. This year, I did the unthinkable… I found a tapered drill bit and had a machine shop modify it for its new lifelong purpose.
We search for the perfect tree… we won’t look at the lots that have been in town on street corners for too long… we don’t know how old the trees have been cut. Freshness is a necessity. The keeper of the tree will not have needles falling onto the floor.
We pile into the truck after hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and look for perfection. It must be a fresh tree… not too short… not too fat. No bare spots or brown tips for our tree. Little hands gently tug on the soft branches, the method copied from their mother. If the needles pull off too easily, the tree is too old and dry.
After much discussion, and much more discussion, there is unanimous agreement on the most wonderful tree for our home. I can’t help myself… I find it necessary to try and negotiate for a discount... a practice usually frowned upon by the rest of the family. But, I can’t help it. And then we carefully load the tree… we take care to not break any branches and we take care not to scratch the truck.
I am reminded every year not to trim too much off the bottom of the tree… not to cut the lower branches because it will create bald spots that cannot be hidden with ornaments or lights… watchful eyes keep a close look out through the side windows to make sure I do my due diligence. The special hole is drilled and the stand is firm and stable… all is well.
The house has been rearranged… the usual corner of the den is clear and ready. The tables have been moved along with the lamps. There is an excitement in the air. The children always want to decorate right away… their mother usually doesn’t want to decorate right away… and I remind them that I want to water the tree over night and allow the branches to fall into place after the journey home.
I put down a plastic mat under the tree in the corner… we turn her to find the perfect angle… we adjust the position to the right or to the left, perhaps a little closer to the wall on one side or the other and then she is there to rest.
It’s hard to water her after the wrapped presents slowly present themselves in a semicircle under our most perfect tree, so I found a perfect watering can one year that has a long spout on it. I can gently tilt the can to the side without spilling water on the floor or on the brightly colored packages. I am reminded almost daily that the tree must have water so the needles won’t fall off onto the floor…
We find ourselves near the tree at night… the white lights reflect off of the shiny green pine needles and off of the ornaments we have collected over the years. The lights stay on all day and are only turned off while we sleep or when no one is home. When you walk into the den, you can smell the aroma of the season… the aroma that pulls you back to Grandmother’s house… the times of footy pajamas and innocence.
And before you know it… it is over. Our perfect tree looks lonely with no presents under her. There is a hollow surrounding her and the warmth she once gave to us seems to have vanished. The lights come down… the beautiful bow finds her resting place for the year and all of the ornaments are packed in their boxes. And there she sits…
Watchful eyes follow me through the den… looking for falling needles and dripping water. Out she goes through the side door and into the back yard… the sap from the inner branches clings to my hand and onto my fingers. I remove the stand from the bottom of her trunk and once again inspect the gasket… and with a quick spray of lubricant, it will be ready for next year.
I drove through our neighborhood today to see bags of wrapping paper and gift boxes piled high close to weekend trash and recyclables… the occasional bow or ribbon was spilled onto the grass or into the street… blowing in the morning breeze. And there were trees… they were tossed near the trash… they lay on their sides pointing in different directions… in the quiet… watching the cars drive by and dropping their needles.
I rubbed the residue of tree sap under my thumb and inhaled the aroma of pine…
Shannon R Killman
