Member-only story
From a (Former) Real Tree Fanatic
I didn’t have an idyllic childhood. I also didn’t have an awful childhood. There were traumas and dramas, as well as some lovely memories.
Particularly when it comes to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I grew up in Minnesota. Think: snow for every Christmas, sledding either down the street in front of my house or the neighbor’s hill, downhill and cross-country skiing, ice skating either on one of the local lakes or an iced-over area in one of the parks.
We had two Christmas trees. The one upstairs was the fake tree. And it was a cheap fake tree. This was the kids’ tree. Any home-made ornaments went on the upstairs tree, as did my wooden angels.
The downstairs tree was always a live tree that my family went together to go chop down. Every year we went to a fancy tree ornament shop that had hand-blown-glass tree ornaments from Germany. All three kids, as well as both my mom and my dad, each got to pick out one ornament every year. Those went on the downstairs tree.
My brothers are older than I am, the eldest by ten years. I have very fond memories of going out with him, my dad, and my other brother, stalking the elusive Christmas tree. Those trips kind of blend together now. But it was generally cold. We had to drive quite a ways out of the city to reach…
