The Pilgrimage of The Tree

I was chatting with the Sisters about the traditions of Christmases Past, those things that didn’t mean much then but mean so much now.

And one of the best was the annual Pilgrimage of The Tree.

We kids are basically two years apart.  I'm the oldest, then Sister One, and then Sister Two.  It was around 4th or 5th grade (my time) when we began The Pilgrimage. When Mom thought we could cross Merle Hay Road on our own without becoming roadkill. And a tradition was born.

The day of The Pilgrimage would find us being shrink-wrapped by Mom with multiple layers of shirts, coats, scarves, and hats.  It was usually a cold, windy day in Iowa with more ice than snow on the ground.

We’d take my sled since it was the longest and off we'd waddle toward an adrenaline-laced game of Reality Frogger on Merle Hay Road to get to the perfect tree waiting at the HyVee grocery store.

The long line of Christmas trees leaned patiently against the side of the store in a long, forest-like double layer, all suffering from a bad case of bed-head due to being stuffed into a semi trailer. So each tree had to be fluffed, primped, and thoroughly inspected at least once. And since one tree looks pretty much like the other, there was some redundancy in our inspection process.

We didn't realize it at the time, but the same thing happened every year.  There was the inspection, that dragging/holding/dropping of the trees, and then we’d find - The One.  Usually Sister Two, the youngest, would find it.  She had an eye for such things.

If the tree had been a dog, it would’ve been the runt of the litter - with no tail,  a case of the mange, and missing an ear.  That was The One.

And then came The Blessing that made it official, administered by each of us in turn.

“It looks lonely." "No one will take this one home.  It'll be left by itself !" "Don't worry, little tree, we love you."

Onto the sled it would go, towed back home by happy hearts and joyous anticipation.

Chattering excitedly as the layers were peeled away, we’d tell Mom about the cutest, most loveable tree in the whole world.  She’d smile sadly and sigh, “Another one of those, huh?"

By the third year, she wouldn't even go outside to look at it.  She'd just get the tools ready and have a fresh pot of coffee ready for Dad when he got home. He’d cut and drill and wire branches until it looked like the one in the Christmas ads on TV…as long as you left that one side facing the corner.

It was years later before we realized all the work Mom and Dad did to make those trees look good. Years before we realized the gift they gave us by letting us pick out the trees. A gift that is now a treasured Christmas memory shared with our kids.

And about the time Mom stopped coming out to see the tree, an American Holiday tradition was born. Coca-Cola decided to sponsor a show called "A Charlie Brown Christmas". And guess what kind of tree ol' Chuck brought back?

Yep.  He found The One.

We kids were geniuses. But Dad had a different way of phrasing it.

I don't think Dad liked Charlie Brown.