Ever since I moved to Boston, I've been cutting down a tree from home over Thanksgiving weekend and bringing it back to Boston. For eight long years, the Homeland has been providing me with a gorgeous, lush (well, somewhat lush) evergreen. The last few years, pickings have been slim and we've had to top a few dying trees. This year it was even harder to find an acceptable tree. We took a walk to scout for trees after Thanksgiving dinner #2. After traversing most of the 20 acres and finding nothing, we tried across the street, where some dying trees still stand tall. We found one that wasn't too sad on top, but definitely dying on the bottom, and marked it as the lucky tree that would serve as our Christmas Tree.
The next day we rushed back from an early dinner at the Man of Kent and suited up to cut down the tree. The snow was falling and the sun was setting, so we had to hurry.
I mostly stood and pointed while macho men Spike and David did all of the hard work, but I did get to yell "TIMBER" when the tree finally fell. See how dead it is? We were really saving it from a slow painful death!
We dragged it up to the house, did some final trim work and it was ready to go.
So after the long trip back to Boston, stuffed in the back of our car, our tree was ready for its closeup. We put the lights up on Monday night... of course I had to do it twice since I didn't check that one of the strands worked before putting it on the tree. We then decorated it on Tuesday evening. By Wednesday, December 1st, our tree looked fabulous! Or as fabulous as it was going to look.
It's pretty sparse, and a little Charlie Brown-esque, but I still love it. It fills me with the holiday spirit every time I plug in the lights. I don't mind that it means a little less space or a little more vacuuming, it just makes me feel jolly!
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