The Christmas season brings out the best and worst of everyone, oftentimes making for wonderful stories in the years that follow. The following story is an old one, and has been retold so many times over the years since it happened that I’m sure everyone knows it, but I hadn’t bothered to write it down for posterity. May the participants in this farce remain merry after my public retelling of their story - it ain’t pretty.
We had gotten into the habit of visiting Bernard’s Tree Farm for our christmas trees. They have a nice setup in the nearby “countryside” where you can cut down your own tree and then run it through a baling machine for the trip home. It’s a nice Christmas outing to fetch a fresh tree for us suburbanites. At least, better than buying one of those busted up dry firs from the grocery store.
The year of this particular event I drove my 2-seat red pickup truck up to the farm site with Dave, and Berta and Evanne followed us in another car. Dave and Evanne were roommates living in one of those almost-historic 2-bedroom apartments on Biddle street in West Chester, and they decided that they wanted a Christmas tree. Well, actually, it was mostly Evanne who decided this, since she was excited to hang all of her grandmother’s Christmas ornaments, which had been packed in storage ever since she moved into the area.
Berta and I spent a good amount of time looking for our own tree, and we finally found one that we liked. I got the borrowed handsaw and chopped it down at the base. We dragged the tree back up the hill, baled it, and tossed it into the truck bed.
Evanne was still in the process of looking at trees when we returned. I have to admit that there is a wide selection at Bernard’s, and it’s not really an easy task to pick the perfect tree. You really have to settle on a “good enough” tree just to get on with your day. We tried to relate as much to Evanne.
Evanne seemed to have an idea in mind of exactly what she wanted. After we tried to help her hurry the selection along, she finally settled on a particular tree; the tree at the heart of the controversy.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked Dave, who was standing next to me eyeing the tree from top to bottom.
Dave paused, then replied, “It’s too big. It won’t fit in the living room.”
Immediately Evanne retorted, “Sure it will. This tree is small.”
I don’t know what kinds of trees Evanne is used to having for Christmas at home, but this tree was not small. In fact, even on the upside of the hill, I could not touch the top.
“I don’t think that’s going to fit in your living room,” I offered. “Maybe you should find something a little smaller.”
“No, I guarantee it will fit. You people are crazy,” she persisted.
By this time the rest of us were tired and hungry from trudging around the hillside. My hunger combined with all of the tree scent was starting to make me lightheaded, as I’m sure it was the rest of our little group.
“Fine, let’s just get this one,” Dave consented. “If it’s too big, we’ll just cut it down.”
“It’s not too big!” Evanne insisted. Ok, whatever- Dave gave the go-ahead to cut, and cut we did.
It took the both of us to lug the tree up the hill to the bailer, since the branches were so wide and kept snagging on other trees as we passed. The farm guys running the baling machine were surprised by the size of the tree, wondering if we had perhaps strayed into one of the closed-off side fields.
We tossed the baled tree in my little pickup and after paying our $25 per tree, we left the farm with two trees: One comfortably inside the truck bed and the other dangling an extra foot or so beyond the tailgate over the road behind us.
We stopped off at our house with our tree on the way through to West Chester and set it up in the stand. It wasn’t short, but it wasn’t tall. It filled the front window nicely, though, and when we determined that it wasn’t going to tip over, we headed off to Biddle Street to drop off Dave, Evanne, and the tree that was slowly looking ever bigger.
When we pulled up outside, Evanne ran to open the doors and clear the way. Dave and I dropped the gate and pulled out the tree, lugging it up to their apartment doorway. He leaned the tree against the wall of the outside door, and it was fairly plain that the tree would never fit without cutting it down at least a foot, if not two. And that said nothing for the width.
“Evanne, this tree isn’t going to fit,” Dave called inside.
“Yes it is, just bring it in,” she replied.
“No… Come out and look at the tree.”
Evanne popped her head out the door and looked at it. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Just bring it in.”
I smirked. Dave huffed. He grabbed the tree, angled it inward and ducked inside. While I waited on the porch I heard a few things being knocked around and muffled voices saying something akin to, “Don’t knock that over - Then get it out of the way.”
After some further shuffling inside, Dave emerged from the apartment with the tree still in its baling twine, and once again propped it up against the wall.
“Excuse me for a moment,” He said, returning alone into the apartment and shutting the door behind him.
I heard the murmurs of heated discussion inside for a minute or two, and then suddenly Dave emerged, grabbed the tree, deposited it in the nearby dumpster, and returned.
“Let’s go get lunch,” he said. And we did.
