Every year we head to the local tree farm and cut down a tree. This year was no exception.
When we arrived at the field, Greg said, “How about we find a tree close to the front so I don’t have to carry it all the way back up the field here?”
Well, that didn’t happen. It seems that was everyone else’s idea, too, so Greg still had to make the laborious haul with a tree perched on his shoulder.
We got home and put it in the stand, and I swear it was all level and plumb and gorgeous.
And then, at some point, this happened:
Greg offered to fix it, and he may even have tried to do so, but I didn’t press the issue. I find the Leaning Tree to be rather charming.
What I don’t find quite so charming, however, is the record shedding of needles this year. Greg thinks the tree ran out of water and he is probably right – after all, I left the kids in charge of it and they kept reporting to me that the reservoir was full. Or maybe this poor tree owes its baring branches to the dog and cat, who spend an inordinate amount of time chasing one another around it. Okay, well, mostly it’s the dog chasing the cat. But still.
If this tree has any needles left by December 25, it’ll be a Christmas miracle.
But I don’t really care. Like I said, the listing of the tree is charming, and regardless of its looks, I think it’s beautiful. After all, its ornaments chronicle our lives together.