The "Perfect" Christmas Tree

Christmas tends to be the time when I feel like I miss my father more than Doug. This would be because of the differences between Christmas in Germany as opposed to in Brazil. It was the difference between centuries old traditions handed down from generation to generation and a missionary family in the hot dry climate of northeast Brazil where Christmas was just a day off work. Pine trees were non-existent. Doug's dad would make attempts at a tree without much enthusiasm and come up with something unique. One year it was a broomstick cemented in a pot with a thick wire that started at the top as a small concentric circle and widening as it descended. Such was Christmas in Brazil.

Christmas in Germany was vastly different. My father reminisced on going into the woods to find the right tree which was usually a short-needled pine. They would drag it home and set it up in the family room on Christmas Eve, never any sooner. My grandmother would decorate the tree with stars made from wheat straw and real, yes, real candles. A bucket of water sat nearby both for watering the tree and for putting out a fire. Nevertheless, the tree was probably the most beautiful of any I've seen. 

We lived in Germany in the early 1970s and I remember being at my aunt and uncle's one Christmas Eve when the Weihnachtsmann (Christmas man) came to visit in person. It was pretty exciting for all us kids. He even brought our presents! While everyone else was simply given their presents, I had to sing Silent Night in order to receive mine. The kicker is I don't even remember what my present was because my cousin, Peter, got the best of them all—a puppy. I must say I was a little jealous. 

When we moved back to the States my father liked to keep as many German traditions going as possible. Our upstairs apartment on Luther Street in Detroit was small, but we went to a lot and bought a tree. We set it in a corner at home we strung colored electric lights on it as we didn't think the landlord would appreciate our burning the house down with candles. We watered it faithfully so it wouldn't dry out. It also took up most of the tiny living room which also doubled as my parents' bedroom.

Well, the water must have evaporated because the tree was brittle and turning brown by the time we took the decorations down. My father dragged it through the tiny kitchen and down the stairs to the curb. By the time he reached the last step there wasn't a needle left on the tree. Instead, there was a trail of them from the tree stand in the living room to the curb. My mother tried to suck them up with the vacuum cleaner which quickly clogged rendering it useless. She decided a broom would be the most useful tool. The next year Papa had the bright idea to go to a tree farm and cut our own because it would stay fresh longer.

Papa researched where the best tree farm was located and we made plans to go on a Saturday. It was to be a family outing. The drive to the farm seemed interminable and we were relieved when we finally arrived. Little did we know the walk to find the perfect tree would seem interminable as well. There were acres and acres of varying pine species and the Damm family would look at each one. So off we went in search of the perfect tree.

As we walked through the rows of evergreens, each one was studied, analyzed and summarily rejected being too tall, too fat, too something. By the time we were finished we would be exhausted, hungry with tempers beginning to flare, and miles from our car. But we found it! The perfect tree! Papa pulled out his brand-new tree saw, got down on all fours, ducked his head under the lowest branches, and started sawing. One of us held the top part so it wouldn't fall. Then we hauled it out of the back forty, strapped it to the top of the car and headed home. We put that fine coniferous specimen in a bucket in the garage to put in the stand after dinner.

My brother and I went out later with the intention of trimming the lower branches and setting the tree in its stand. The first thing we discovered was that the trunk of the pine was too big for the opening in the tree stand. Klaus sawed the bark off the trunk until it fit. Getting the tree straight was another matter altogether. We shifted and tipped to no avail. The problem became evident when I peered through the branches at the middle of the trunk. There, hidden in the center, was a twisted knot of bark that looked like an "S" making it impossible to straighten the tree completely. So much for perfection. My brother and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and carried the tree into the house. It was still green when we hauled it to the curb on New Year's Day. The memory of that sad little Scotch pine and all that went with it is one of our favorites. 

I thought about that tree a few weeks ago as I was putting up my pre-lit partially decorated artificial tree that I bought during an after-Christmas clearance. I was feeling a little overwhelmed so I invited a friend to come over and help me decorate. She arrived wearing the colors of the season and accessorized with earrings that were little green present bows and red Wellies on her feet. She was prepared. I pulled out the silver and white ornaments I had bought a couple of years ago, also on clearance. They look best on my partially decorated, perfectly straight tree. People who come over will invariably comment on how pretty it is. I say, "Thank you," as I think about our quite imperfect, tilted and twisted tree. It was much better. Maybe I'll cut a fresh tree next year . . .