Time for Tree

Yesterday, I had my annual Bridget Jones moment, it's something I both look forward to, and dread at the same time.  Yes, choosing a Christmas tree, as a singleton, alone, in the rain... has to be one of the most depressing chores in the entire world. 

We occasionally had a real tree when I was little, I distinctly remember the falling needles and baldness by Christmas but then, we mostly had a fake, I'm sorry... artificial tree, which I loved. 

Things changed one year, just before Christmas and that first year, I couldn't bring myself to have a tree, I think I compromised because I had company and bought a one foot high tiny conifer and stuck it on top of the TV, undressed.  It was green and it was Christmas tree shaped, it was the best I could do.

Since then, I have progressed and bought a real tree every year, one of the fir variety.  I've chosen it myself, usually alone and in the rain, and God it's depressing.  This year, I aimed to get a fake tree, but the ones that I like, are really expensive and suddenly, the cost of a real tree, isn't so bad.  Also, I heard on the radio that they are a sustainable crop, so I'm not totally infringing on the planet.

Yesterday morning started out cold but dry.  After my usual Starbucks, I headed to the cash machine for my tree money, and the heavens opened.  The cold but blue skies turned to grey and wet.  I retrieved my money and took shelter, yards from my car but the rain was coming down like rods, for seconds and then it turned into hail, tiny weeny, bouncy ping pong balls of ice.

That's about right, I'm not dressed for cold or torrential at the moment, nevertheless, I will be Christmas tree shopping on the way home.

By the time I drive to the Garden Centre, the one I go to every year to choose my tree, rain and hail has cleared and we actually have a powder blue sky.

I find somewhere to park right near the door and enter into tree world.  I hate choosing.  I need one to fit the space I have, for the right price, preferably without a herd of couples also choosing at the same time, I just want it to be over.

I enter into the forest and there is another lone woman wandering around, I give her a smile and a nod, she's probably going home to a husband and family but you never know, she may be doing her Bridget Jones thing too.  Us gals have to stick together.

I quickly refresh my memory with the tree tags, some are blue, some are stripey, some are orange.  I think they signify species and price, I suss out that I need stripey, that would give me the cheapest, (not so cheap,) and height wise, what I'm looking for and also species, I love a Nordmann fir, they smell divine and are pretty hardy, hardly any needle drop.

I pick up one tree after another by it's pointy top, but here's the thing; you can't get perspective when you're on your own.  You can't hold a tree up and back away from it to get a good look, all while there is just you.  Now for the  embarrassing bit.  You have to wander into the main area and say, 'excuse me, could I borrow someone to hold up a tree?'

The owner, for yet another year, comes out with me.  I've narrowed it down to two!  One is already in a planter, the other needs a hand, this is my fastest year on record. 

The nice owner explains that every tree has a front and a back, due to the prevailing winds and well, just nature really.  We all know how that goes don't we?  I'm no stranger to the prevailing winds myself.

So he spins them both, one at a time, before me are twirling Christmas trees, it's a sight to behold.  The one that was the best shape for my space was a little too... hit by the prevailing winds, so I instantly chose the other one, which is a little fat, sorry, full at the bottom.  Full it may be, but I do I do love it, every inch of it was worth the angst.