Dear Very Nice Man at the Christmas Tree Farm,
My family and I wanted to say THANK YOU! We came to your Christmas Tree farm on Saturday morning, when it was about 30 degrees outside, and your jolly and merry demeanor warmed us up. Well, no, it didn't, but it warmed our spirits up, but really, we were still freezing cold, despite our many layers of clothing, coats and scarves. Our feet got stuck in your frozen dirt, but the crunching noise it made under our feet was delightful.
Our experience at your tree farm was terrific. We found a perfectly shaped tree in very little time. Perhaps we should have looked a little while longer, because this tree is a painful little bitch of a tree! Excuse my language, sir, there are no other words to use.
You see, while this tree is perfect in height and shape, with no funky holes or bald patches, and an amazingly straight tree top, it is THE MOST PAINFUL TREE EVER. We decided to branch out (haha) and get a different type of tree than the usual noble we get every year. We chose a spruce. Or more like A Nasty Scratchy Mess of a Tree, in the spruce variety.
Trask and I should have known better. When we walked past the tree at first, the branches brushed against our legs and almost drew blood, through our jeans. We should have ignored the tree that hurt us, but we didn't. Instead, we turned back and decided to choose that tree for our very own. I think the cold weather was impairing our judgment.
So Trask cuts down the tree. When he stands up, his ear is bleeding and he has a prickly rash on his neck from the needles of the tree. Endearing, right?! We think, well, at least it's cut down, our problems are over. But are they, really?
We have to tie the tree to the roof of the Subaru. And kind sir, while you are a sweet old man running a very quaint and sweet Christmas Tree farm, you do not have the bailing machine that makes the tree manageable. We look past this, and throw the tree on top of the car. With bloody hands. (And mind you, if we had gloves, they would not have helped!).
So the tree is on it's side, on top of our car, and the tree is HUGE. It's not tall, but it's fat. This was a nasty tree to tie to the roof rack, it truly was. We used our twine and tied the tree up. We double checked everything and made sure it would stay on the roof of the car. Trask always laughs at me because every year I ask if it's on the roof tight enough, because wonder what would happen if it fell off the roof while we were driving... that would be funny, right?! He laughs at me each year, because we all know I worry too much. OR DO I?!
So we wave good bye and tell you thank you. We're happy to be in our nice, warm car once again. We drive down your gravel driveway and cruise along the 2 lane road in the country. The sun is shining, the frost on all the grass is beautiful and seeing the old barns along the way makes me wish it was warmer so I could pull the car over and take pictures, but I am a wuss.
All of a sudden, BAM! The tree? It's flying off the top of our car! We watch it roll into the other lane in our rear view mirror. Taylor screams "I want my Christmas tree back!". We find a place to turn around. Our car gets chased by a crazed, barking and growling Cattle Dog trying to pop our car tires. We nearly escape. We turn around. We pull off to the side of road, about 20 yards away from the tree. Trask and I get out of the car to go get the tree. We see a car coming. The car is in the same lane that the tree is in. The tree is off to the side, but still in the lane a little bit. I imagine what it'd be like if the small Scion car hit the tree going at 50 MPH. But then I realize I don't have to imagine it... because the car didn't swerve one tiny bit, no effort. WE HAD A CHRISTMAS TREE HIT AND RUN.
Trask runs across the road and gets the prickly SOB tree. The trunk of it is all scuffed up from it's little tussle with the car. I am sure that the car ended up with a few scuffs, too, but we'll never know, because THEY DIDN'T STOP. Then we look at the top of the once perfect (yet terribly painful) tree. A few limbs are snapped, but other than that, our $13 tree is intact.
Between the bitter cold and our bloody hands and arms, Trask and I spend about 20 minutes tying the tree back on top of the car. I am trying to work fast because another dog (from another house) is growling and staring at me. I know he's thinking that I look delicious. He's licking his lips and baring his teeth, but I remember they can smell fear, so I am thankful I doubled up on deodorant that morning. The huge Shepard finally left us alone, seeing that we were already bleeding and that took a lot of fun out of his game.
The tree is back on our car! Every once in awhile we hear the knife needles of the tree scraping on top of my car, making the worst noise ever. It's taunting us. Reminding us that it can fly off the roof of the car at any minute. Oh, we know, we know.
So with the horrible scraping noises reminding us of our trauma, we slowly drive back home. Grandpas in sedans are passing us left and right. We finally make it home in one piece, with a tree still on our car.
The tree is so painful to touch that we are scared to bring it upstairs, let alone put it in it's base, but Trask does all of that, thank goodness. His short-lived hand modeling career is now over, but we have a tree. The tree is bigger than it was when we first chose it. It hardly fits in our nook. We think it's swollen from all the trauma. We were scared to decorate the tree, too, because every time I tried to hang a bulb on a branch, I got cut, but eventually I lost enough blood that I didn't care anymore, so the tree is decorated.
Again, kind sir of the Christmas Tree farm, we will be back next year, but you better not point us in the direction of the Bastard Spruce ever again.
Shauna, Trask and Taylor