There’s something so romantic about a Christmas tree. I remember my family’s Christmas trees from when I was young. They always stood there, barbaric yet sweet, with such a strong presence. Having a tree in the house felt mythical and filled the room with wonderment. And decorating it was incredibly exciting for my sisters and I. It’d be a family affair, taking up the whole evening. Unwrapping all of the unique little ornaments and carefully placing them on the tree would make my heart race. I found them to be so special–since only getting to see them once a year.
Bringing a piece of nature indoors always seems to carry with it a touch of enchantment. I want to stay aware of the magic that a Christmas tree can have, for my daughter, my expected son, and for Jared and me. I want Christmas to keep feeling significant. I appreciate tradition whole-heartedly, and I want to give my children what I had. I want to continue with rhythmic holidays that honor nature, and I want to remember the story of why we’re celebrating.
This year–as we did last year–we hunted for our tree in the wild, and cut it down ourselves. (We’re lucky to live in a state with so much woodland that it’s easy for us to do this.) It just felt so good to go outdoors to get a tree, all bundled up, and have to hike around a little to find one. I have it in my mind that somehow this new little tradition will add to the enchantment of Christmas, and I think that it has so far. It has certainly felt more special, and–at the very least–has created a nice afternoon for our family.
Fae is dancing around in circles singing Christmas songs in a cozy pink outfit.