There’s something sad about naked Christmas trees thrown across concrete after New Years. The celebration is over and we commence the work of getting through winter with our vitamin D supplements, hot tea, and space heaters. Our Christmas trees are off life support and shedding their needles on the street; or at least ours still is. Most people have quietly disposed of their Christmas tree corpses by now. My goodness, it’s the 25th of January. But, that dead Christmas tree is a symbol of celebration. It’s a yard sign saying, “Look neighbors! Despite our disheveled yard that sometimes goes too long before being mowed in the summer and the fact that we still have frozen fall pumpkins sitting on the deck, we are actually functional people and we do observe holidays. Look! We even got a REAL Christmas tree. ”
I wanted to buy a fake Christmas tree – simply unbox it from storage – no needles on the floor, no day trip up into the Hills.
I was stuck in a heap of ranch work to be done, year end bookwork, along with tending to an almost toddler who is always climbing on everything. A whole day of frolicking in the forest seemed impractical, laborious. Getting myself and my child out the door in winter with all our socks and shoes and jackets, sippy cups and snacks, is a supernatural event. Forget sawing a spruce.
Procuring a Christmas tree takes a couple hours of drive time, and an additional couple hours debating on which tree flaunts the best figure for our living room. My husband and I always disagree. He is always wrong. For the past 3 years, we have also used the forest for a good family photo for our Christmas card– which is almost always sent after Christmas. I am still handing out Christmas cards. We’re type B minus kind of people.
This tree excursion, however, was completely worth the fuss.
It seems like Christmas trees deserve a better burial than a land fill– a better rest than lying with rotting orange peels, diapers, and milk cartons. This tree had a workout. It held many memories – like, “baby’s first Christmas” and “baby’s second Christmas” ornaments. Those heavy glass orbs lovingly made by grandma at Walgreens each year are definitely meant for a fake tree with steel bones and not our rubbery spruce. So baby’s growing collection of ornaments joined our hand-me-down decor that keeps growing every time a parent comes over with a box. So my 20 year old Barbie, Winnie the Pooh, and all the Breyer horse ornaments went up on the tree regardless of their limb-bending weight. The tree’s theme looked to be a random museum exhibit of my life, complete with even my own “baby’s first Christmas” ornament. The only matching decorations were some shabby looking birds, their balding glitter heads illuminated under the lights.
This tree got more of a workout than the last one and endured more abuse from our toddler, who last year could only reach for the lowest branches when set under the tree. This year she mercilessly grabbed its branches and pulled off any low hanging décor.
We certainly had the most presents under the tree than ever before. Tiril, our Norwegian exchange student, made over 17 gifts for her friends and family. Our teenage elf worked endlessly in her basement workshop on crocheted ornaments and keychains, plush toy penguins, and beautiful watercolor cards. I had never seen someone put so much thought and effort into Christmas. Pretty much everyone in her life got a little gift. It was truly inspiring.
The mornings were spent listening to Norwegian Gnomes singing about Christmas while Tiril made the traditional Nordic holiday cookies. Some traditions I think I will keep– like the celebration of Saint Lucia day that honors a 3rd century Italian Saint. During persecution under Emperor Diocletian, Saint Lucia brought meals to Christians hiding in Roman Catacombs while wearing a crown of candles to light the way. Her good deeds did not go unpunished – she died a martyr. Apparently she was making the meals with money from her dowry, and her husband couldn’t deal with that; so he snitched on his own wife. The day is celebrated with special bread called “lussekatter.” It’s a yellow twisted roll with turmeric for coloring that symbolizes light. Tiril also had us watch specific Christmas films for days leading up to Christmas, like “Dinner for One” on the night of the 23rd and “3 Wishes for Cinderella” on Christmas Eve. Thank God for subtitles.
Growing up, mom made our house beautiful for Christmas, but my dad never liked the holiday. He claimed Christmas was simply another pagan holiday claimed by Christians when Rome became Christian under Constantine. He has since relaxed his views, but back then Dad always hated the tree. I don’t blame him for sticking with his convictions, but the simple presence of the tree was a source of contention. When they divorced, my mom bought a huge Christmas tree and tried to even bring Santa into the holiday. I was ten years old, so introducing Santa was a bit late after I had been mocking other children who believed in Santa for years. We appreciated the stockings regardless, knowing it was Mom and not Santa who made Christmas as special as it could be amid the separation.
As ranchers, one of our generational traditions is putting rams out with the ewes for breeding on Christmas Eve. Tiril also got in on that tradition. She noted that she never thought she would be riding a horse on the 22nd of December. (We managed to accomplish this tradition early this year).
Ranch traditions are easy because they are traditions that must be kept if we want to have lambs in the spring. The ranch is full of seasonal traditions that are easy to keep because they are tied to livelihood. They are necessary work.
Having a baby kindled a desire in me to make holidays special, not just with ranch work, but with traditions not linked to necessity. I want to make traditions like those of Tiril’s family. In Norway, nearly everyday of December is special. It seems Norway as a whole values Christmas a bit more than we United Statesians, or at least celebrates it better. It’s not just Norway though, I think of celebrations like Las Posadas celebrated in Mexico and some Central American countries. I wish to wander the streets with my community looking for lodging only to denied by curmudgeon innkeepers. Then finally, be welcomed into a warm celebration of the nativity. These traditions aren’t just individual family events but community endeavors. Sounds like a lot of work to put on – that’s the problem.
Tradition takes time and considerable effort. It’s tempting to write off traditions not linked to the seasonal necessities of ranching. But maybe traditions not linked to finances are just as important. These traditions will be core memories for my family– waking up to a skinny Christmas tree obtained through 6 hours of driving, sawing, arguing, building a snow woman, and snapping way too many photos while trying to get the sleep deprived baby to smile. All this you can get for a $15 tree license.
I used to find holidays cliché and obligatory. But now as an adult, I know I need all the celebration I can get. That’s what life should be – a celebration. I want to resurrect centuries old traditions in my young family. I want to make Christmas special other than just a time to get presents. I want storied traditions and homemade décor and gifts, the most beautiful Christmas hymns playing from our record player as our toddler awakes on Christmas morning.
I want to invoke all the ancient nostalgia along with all the saints and Mary and Joseph and Jesus. I want it all and I pray I’ll have the stamina to make the seasons of life special for our baby, but also for myself. I need special days and seasons and impracticalities probably more than she does. It’s a good thing my baby “gifted” me some coffee this Christmas. (Thanks hubs).
Cheers to more celebration in 2026 – the year I’ll be busting open champagne for the smallest of things, and making time to frolic in the forest.
Sentel Schreier 
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