Every year on my mom’s birthday my parents used to take my sisters and me to a tree farm in Michigan to pick out and chop down our own Christmas tree. It was always snowy and freezing (it was Michigan after all) and I’m sure we did our fair share of complaining the entire time. But it’s not the misery of being dragged on a family outing that I remember. It’s the wonderful tradition of trekking through the snow-covered fields to find the perfect tree that stuck with me. Our tree had to be at least 15 feet tall, symmetrical, full and, well, perfect. Fast forward to two years ago when my husband insisted we get our tree at a home improvement store because it was raining and Christmas was two days away since it took me that long to convince him we needed one in the first place. Then last year I was so pregnant I could barely stand on my own two feet so Chris walked a few blocks away and carried our tree home from a street corner tree stand. Finally, this year I got my tree farm adventure. I shamelessly used our daughter to get my way — “But, honey, don’t you want Isla to have memories of picking out her first tree on a tree farm?!” It worked.
I know it’s not technically a tradition if we’ve only done it once (kind of like how a “first annual” event is not a real thing), but I’m calling it a tradition because we had so much fun I know even my husband will want to do this year after year. We ventured out to the New Jersey burbs to Indian Acres Tree Farm, where we had the pick of the litter. There were no crowds nor lines. We hopped on a tractor-pulled wagon, got dropped off in a field of trees, found our perfect tree and the staff did everything from chopping it down to tying it to our car. No hassle, no fuss. Just a gorgeous Christmas tree and new, happy family memories. As for Isla, she couldn’t stop hyperventilating with excitement. And it turns out she has great taste in Christmas trees.
There she is … our perfect Christmas tree!