NEWS

I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to holiday decorations. I like my Christmas lights white, and my yard décor classic (think lots of wreaths). I insist on getting the final say regarding how things are arranged, and I’m the one who makes sure all family traditions are followed. While I may sound a bit militant, don’t worry; this year that all changed when my family began campaigning for a real tree.

A little backstory here. I’m 53 years old, and I’ve only had a real tree once. That was back in my 20s when my roommate's dad brought one over. All I had to do was put ornaments on it, so I’ve never had the full experience of picking out a real tree. It’s not that I’m against it; it’s just not what I grew up with. We always had an artificial tree, so instead of going to the tree lot and hauling one back on the roof of our car, my dad climbed up to the attic every year on the day after Thanksgiving to fetch our tree.

This year not only did my kids (and my husband) want to get a real tree, but they also wanted to go Clark Griswold-style and hike up to the mountains to chop one down. When I heard this idea, my practical side took over. “We already have a tree — with lights on it,” I thought. “Real trees are expensive.” And my anxiety-fueled favorite, “What if we accidentally leave ornaments on it when we throw it on the curb afterward?”

Lori K. Tate, her son Graydon, and their real tree.

I was ripe with excuses about why this tree business shouldn’t take place, but my family kept begging for one. Eventually the people pleaser in me caved, and it was decided that we would head to the mountains on the Saturday after Thanksgiving to find the perfect tree.

In an effort to maintain some sort of control, I asked around for a good spot to find a tree in the North Carolina mountains. A dear friend recommended a place in West Jefferson, so off we went, all bundled up like four adventurers looking for treasure. I still had my misgivings when we got in the car, as I thought about how we could have already had our artificial one decorated by the time we hit the first Sheetz. However, as soon as my ears began popping, we started seeing a convoy of cars coming down the mountain, all crowned with forest green trees. My son and I started counting them for fun, and I started getting excited about finding a tree of our own.

When we arrived at the tree farm, it was beyond busy, filled with decked-out families making holiday memories left and right. (We were just as guilty, as we tied a plaid scarf around our dog’s neck.) A part of me began getting competitive. “What if someone found our tree before we did?” “What if they ran out?” Then I realized how ridiculous I was being and began my trek up the mountainside.

My son led the effort, vetting tree after tree to see if they had what it takes for a Tate Family Christmas. It needed to be tall, yet plump enough for all our ornaments. We had one contender in the cue before we spotted our tree in all of its eight feet of glory. Perfectly symmetrical, regal as could be, this tree didn’t have a blemish. We all knew this was the one, our first real tree.

Through a process as efficient as the Chick-fil-A drive-through, our tree was placed on top of our Subaru so we too could join the festive caravan down the mountain. Though it didn’t take much time to find the tree of our dreams, we all left with a sense of accomplishment that we had done what we set out to do. Our first holiday goal met.

After returning home, we snipped the ropes on our tree, letting it breathe in its new environment, its new role. As its branches sprung free, the tree was just as beautiful as when it was growing at the farm. I started frantically stringing lights around it when my son offered to help. Something clicked in me, and I gave the reins to him. When he was finished, the tree looked magical, and I finally understood what all the fuss was about.

Our tree has since set the tone for my holiday season — and perhaps the year to come. If everything isn’t just so, that’s okay. Things don’t have to be perfect to enjoy them, and Jolly Old St. Nicholas will still lean his ear this way whether my tree is crooked or not. The kids even put colored lights on their tree upstairs, and the world didn’t end. As for our artificial tree, it’s long gone after serving us for 17 years. I don’t think we’ll be needing it anymore.