Christmas trees with character

My dad was a big believer in cutting down our own Christmas tree out of our own woods. To go to the store and buy one would be a travesty in his mind.
We would bundle up, drive over to what we called the pines, which was a part of the farm that had a big stand of pine trees, and trudge through the snow (usually) to find the best tree we could.
Dad would describe these trees we brought home each year as full of character. Most people would probably think they were a second cousin to Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.
Several times, my dad would collect extra branches, and he would use those branches to make pine bough swags that he would tie up on the posts in the barn, decorating the barn for the holiday too. We used kiln-dried shavings as bedding in the barn, so the barn always had a slightly piney smell, but the smell from those pine boughs was so much different – better and more alive.
When we would get the tree home, there would usually be some sort of engineering required to convince the tree to cooperate. Some years, the trunks were slightly crooked. Sometimes, the tree had to be tied to the curtain rod.                                                                                             
One year, the best we could find had some rather large gaps. Not to be deterred, my dad drilled holes in the trunk of the tree and inserted additional branches to fill in the blank spaces.
My mom often recounts the tree Dad brought home for their first Christmas. When it stood alongside the old brick farmhouse they lived in, the top of the tree bypassed the tops of the upstairs windows. That one required quite a bit of engineering.
We never had trouble with needles falling off our fresh-from-the-woods trees, except for in 1988, which had been an incredibly hot and dry summer. That year, needles were falling off as we drug the tree home. The vacuum cleaner got plugged up a couple of times that year.
Once the tree was up and (hopefully) secured, Mom would dig out the boxes of ornaments, all which had a story behind them.
When I was a kid, my grandma Nauman would give us ornaments every Christmas. My favorites were the ones she made when her and my mom would go to ceramics classes at a lady named Etta’s house, near Wilton, Wisconsin. I used to go along and paint small simple things myself. I always loved going to Etta’s, so those ornaments bring back many good memories. As I grew older, I started collecting cow ornaments and probably have enough of those for at least one entire tree.
As we grew, once in a while, Dad would cave and would pick up a tree from the local grocery store, but they were never quite the same as the ones that came from the pines. I am grateful that my own son was able to experience the tradition of going out into the pines with Grandpa to find a Christmas tree.
I hate to admit that I haven’t put up a Christmas tree in several years now. Dad died the day after Christmas in 2010, and honestly, the holiday has never been the same for me. Once Austin grew older and December became a busy month with hockey and other activities, it seemed more of a chore than something delightful to do.
There have been several years, around late October, when I think this will be the year I’ll get another Christmas tree. I usually think about all the ornaments packed away in totes full of newspaper and paper towels and about going to pick out all those trees with Dad. Those memories take over and spark an interest and desire. But by the time December rolls around, any enthusiasm I may have had has usually blown out the door with the cold wind, as I have been thrust into the rigorous routine of trying to balance winter chores with work.