Last year, though, we had to get our tree that weekend before Thanksgiving. We were busy and that was the only time we could go, and so, even though it felt wrong, it had to happen that way. We quickly realized that the Christmas tree farm was much, MUCH less crowded the weekend before Thanksgiving than the weekend after. As Thanksgiving approached, we decided that's what we would do again. Sometimes practicality just trumps everything else, you know?
So on Saturday, we set off for the mountains to find a tree. Every year, B and I have a discussion on the hayride to the field of trees about the size we need. There have been a few mishaps here and there (our first live tree was too small) but lately we've been doing pretty well. We decided that 8' trees work best for us and that was what we needed to look for. They were marked with blue ribbons. A helpful worker pointed us in the direction of a lot of 8' trees, telling us that they cut their large trees this year. Rather than being able to stand beside the trees, you had to look up for a lot of them because a 20' tree may have been cut to 8'. (I know that's confusing and I probably didn't explain it well at all, but it's important to this story, so keep it in mind.)
We traipsed all around the hillside looking for a tree. Aniston loved them all and pouted each time we vetoed her choice (which was often). We found an 8' tree that suited us, and B signaled for the guy to come cut it.
Then it happened. The moment that will forever be remembered as we reminisce about Christmases past.
B saw what he believed was the perfect tree. It was full. It didn't have a bad side or any noticeable holes between branches. It had a red ribbon. Red ribbons mean 9'. But after all, 9 is just a little more than 8, and it was so great, and....suddenly B was telling the guy that we'd take it.
We stepped aside as they cut the tree. When they threw it on the back of a trailer to be bailed, I looked at B and said, What have we done?! Because, friends, it was massive. MASSIVE. Not one to admit defeat (that's the theme of the rest of this story), B said it would be fine.
The events that followed could only be rivaled by a Griswold family Christmas. (This is a bit ironic since that is, without a doubt, our favorite Christmas movie ever and is quoted year round here.)
We took the scenic route home. He suggested we stop for dinner--and not at a quick place.
He was stalling.
When we finally got home, we got the crazy tree in the house (with lots of laughter). And then he stood the tree up in the stand, and we realized just how big of a problem we had. Still not admitting defeat, he insisted it would be fine. We left it bound until Sunday afternoon.
And when he cut the rope, this is what we had:
No windows were broken, but please notice the size comparison to our front door.
At this point, B conceded that it was, in fact, too big. He drug it back outside, said we'd just leave it there and decorate it with huge outdoor bulbs, and we'd go get another tree.
However, in an act of sheer will and determination a few hours later, he moved my car and drug the ridiculous tree into the garage. He was adamant that this tree was going to work, because he wasn't going to give up that easily. (Remember our theme of the day?) A lot of cutting and trimming later, we had a decent-sized tree that would fit where we normally put it.
It's still big and full, but its ours and at this point I wouldn't trade it for anything because, as B told me a thousand times throughout this ordeal, this is a tree we won't ever forget.