THE PERFECT TREE - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)  

     Wrestling Christmas trees has helped me earn a “green belt” in Tree Wrestling.  Having gone numerous rounds with this species, I’ve learned several good moves.  The “Dumpster Heave” is my favorite.  Our son has been encouraging me to enter the World Tree Wrestling competition next December, in Christmas Valley, Oregon.  

     Along with the tree wrestling, I’ve also developed a nice tree-talk routine that our kids enjoy.  I’ve perfected several unintelligible sounds that I like to make while attempting to put up a tree.  (My wife says they’re the same sounds I make when she asks me to take out the garbage.)  
    
     One year I found the perfect tree.  It was in my neighbor’s living room, nicely decorated.  I offered him my car in trade, but he refused.  To sweeten the deal, I offered to throw in a pair of my daughter’s earrings, which he could also use as road reflectors.  He refused to budge.  This left me no choice but to stomp out of his house in tears.

     Since my neighbor squelched my attempt to obtain the perfect tree and my wife doesn’t like tree wrestling in the house, I found a stress-free tree.  It was a stick.  I didn’t even need a tree stand.  I just put it in a vase with water and set it on the table.  Then I topped it with an angel.  People came by and asked, “Where’d you get the stick with the angel on top?”

 

     “It’s my stress-free Christmas tree,” I answered. “I hope all of you find one.”

     I sometimes yearn for that simple Christmas of yesteryear, when I would go out with Gramps in search of the “Great Tree.” 

     He would grab his trusty axe.  “Let’s go out to the back forty and get us a tree,” he would say.  And off we would go, through rain, sleet, snow, and cold. 

     After walking about twenty yards, I’d ask, “Is this the back forty, Gramps?”

     “No, it’s up yonder,” he’d answer.  Then he’d point to a place much farther than you could see with the Hubble telescope. 

 

      I still remember those days as delightful times, especially if you survived the Happy Valley Death March to the back forty and returned with the “Great Tree.”     

     Today, very few make that long trek into the forest, staring hypothermia in the face, to find the perfect tree.  They go to a tree farm or a tree lot in town.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I, myself, have resorted to this method.

     With prices climbing every year, I not only want the perfect tree, I want the cheapest tree.  “If we run out and buy the first tree we see, it will cost a fortune,” I explained to my wife.  “The key is waiting.  The longer we wait, the more the price drops.  If we wait long enough, we can get a great deal.”  I was right! 

     “It’s just a trunk,” moaned my wife.

     “Look at the nice poinsettia you can set on it,” I countered.

     “This is not even a tree.”

    “Well, it’s part of a tree,” I answered. “It’s the perfect trunk.  And it’s cheap.  Next year we’ll look for the perfect tree.”

To be continued...check back soon