Our Christmas Tree

When I was young, Dad would bring home our Christmas tree from a hunting trip.

Red Cedar Woodland in Virginia

In those days, he’d hunt on the large farms of friends. It would be rare to see him except at dinnertime (after dark, of course). No doubt, he’d eye-up the trees as he made his way to his deer stand and cut it down on the way out.

It was always exciting seeing him pull into the driveway with the tree in the pickup!  Now, we were no ordinary family…no fir for us…nor balsam…not even a spruce….the Johnson family always had a CEDAR! 

I didn’t realize until I was older that we were the only family on the block (possibly in town) to have a cedar Christmas tree. Let’s face it, by the time a tree is lit and decorated, you have no clue what kind it is OR how “perfect” it is.

By the time we were teenagers, we were begging Dad for another kind of tree!  Our forearms were so red and scratched from hanging ornaments and stringing lights in the cedar that we looked like we’d been in a fight with a feral cat. And the needles?  It was like a trip to the phlebotomist—all over your hands. Each year, the ornaments made it further and further out to the end of the limbs (who says wisdom doesn’t come with age?).

Like I said in the Tree Farm Webisode:  I’m totally hooked on the Concolor Fir now — its scent is so wonderful. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what mom and dad would say of the Cedar.


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