Remember the days when we bundled up, packed a snack and pulled the kids in a little sled to find and cut down our Christmas tree? Granted it was a Christmas tree farm, not the great open wild. But still. We used a hand saw and got sappy and drug the thing a quarter mile to the cash register.
They don't have Christmas tree farms here. Just sheds filled with firs that have been shipped in. Don't get me wrong, it's better than Home Depot (no offense Home Depot-ers). There is a bit of nostalgia to it. There is often Christmas music being piped in from somewhere. And there is usually a little barn filled with fresh wreaths and garland. And sometimes there is a free candy cane hand out.
This year we decided to try a new place. We liked the old "farm." Honestly, it's been a month - I can't remember why we tried a new place. But we did and we ended up at the soft grand opening of a cute little nursery that had no Christmas trees.
But they had lovely poinsettias.
And a pond
And a 100 year+ old cabin
So we bought a poinsettia and headed out to Oma's Dairy and (we ship in our) Christmas Tree Farm.
And Oma's had...a petting zoo
And a barn filled with cotton seeds on which to sled (wish we had a picture from further back)
And a dairy
And peddle carts on a dirt track
And pull carts for your baby
So here in California it's all about the full experience. I was happy with the sled, the hand saw and the fresh cut tree. But none of us will deny that we had a great time at Oma's and will probably go back next year. Our tree, on the other hand, was by far the worst looking tree in McBride history. Mike and I have a nack for picking out what we feel, every year is the best tree we've ever had. I just didn't have that drive this year. I liked the hole-y, scraggly tree we came home with - I think because that is a bit how I have felt this year. It felt false to come home with a perfectly shaped tree and create a perfect looking holiday scene when the truth was that very day had started with a knock down drag out between Olivia and me over what she was going to wear and "we are going on a family Christmas outing and making memories and might have a photo opportunity and you better get a better attitude because we are going to have fun if IT'S THE LAST THING WE DO!" Or something like that. The hole-y tree felt more like us. And dressed up with our conglomeration of ornaments - made from panty hose and feathers, passed down from grandparents, marking first Christmases alive and first Christmases married (only one of those thankfully) - I loved it until it's death - which unfortunately came before Christmas, but it still stood tall and proud and hole-y, shining it's peaceful lights in our home and reminding us of the Holy that came for our hole-y-ness.
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