O Tannenbaum Barbie

O Tannenbaum Barbie

Christmas trees must be from better stalk (ha, ha, get it?) than the ones we got when Barbie was young.  It was very exciting to go out in the car after dinner to the Christmas tree lot.  It was cold enough to see your breath and there was snow underfoot making that satisfying squeak.  The nice man would patiently hold and spin a few likely firs and we would pick one with not too many bald spots.  My mother never came on these excursions.  She waited at home for the intrepid shoppers to return with their catch.

My father would carry the tree into the living room and screw it into the stand.  The fire department always distributed brochures about keeping your tree fresh.  The suggestion was to immerse the bottom 4 inches of the trunk in water and to expect the tree to need a gallon of water a day.  Our Christmas tree stand had a shallow cup at the bottom that held less than a cup of water when empty.

Once the tree was in the living room,  Dad would hold it by the top branch and slowly rotate the whole tree with my mother assessing it critically.  The goal was to orient the tree so that it looked full to the point of opulence.  Every tree had a bald spot that had to be turned to face the corner, like  a naughty child.  One year the tree must have been very inadequate because I clearly remember my dad sawing off a bough and then drilling  a hole in the tree trunk.  The sawed-off limb was glued into the hole and voila, a beautiful Christmas tree (at least from the front).

Tree growers now spend their summers patiently shaping the trees while they grow.  Barbie just grabs one off the stack.  It is always perfect.