Has anyone asked Tree about this?

Last weekend it was off to Schmidt's Christmas Tree Farm to chop down the annual Callaway Christmas tree. Every year, the experience of chopping it down ourselves beckons to us like something pitiful we can't ignore. This year we found a lovely family-owned farm tucked in the Lehigh Valley (say: "lee-high"), with acres and acres of no less than 10 different kinds of evergreens (are there even ten kinds?!?) and holly trees, all at various stages of growth, spread through the rolling hills of southeastern Pennsylvania. A tractor pulled us on a wagon with other families through what we thought looked like a Norman Rockwell painting to the picturesque fields of evergreens. Expertly groomed in immaculate rows, the trees stood like good soldiers to the assault by little hands pulling, picking, and tugging on their branches. Somehow, each child (ours and everyone else's) managed to find distinguishing characteristics why their choice of tree is THE tree we MUST have. Cole is committing a host of offenses against each and every tree he passes - which is A LOT. He has secured a saw, whose teeth he mercilessly grinds once or twice into the trunks of who-knows-how-many-trees before we can stop him. Dad has decided this year (unilaterally I should add) that "everyone should have a turn" cutting down the tree. Naturally, the farm has an endless supply of saws hanging on multiple stands, under wagon seats, and on corners of fences for easy access, to which Cole immediately helps himself.

The tractor driver had wisely dropped everyone off in a semi-central location among the fields of trees, where within the first 20 acres in any direction there are all varieties of evergreens in every size from table-top to 14 feet. Of course, my people hit the ground running out of the wagon for the trees beckoning from the back 40 which was down a steep hill, through some mud, and then up a steep hill lined with electric fencing on both sides. While Dan and I argued whether the fence was live (Dan: "It's for deer and cattle, it would be unwise to have it live now -" Heather: "Well, the purpose is to keep ANYTHING out, so why would they NOT have it live? Otherwise, they wouldn't have these signs up and then the farm people telling us it's live and to watch-" Dan: "Trust me. It's not live, dear." Heather: "Why don't you grab it and find out."), the people are running around the exact same kind of trees that are growing back where we got dropped off by the very-wise tractor driver.

Selecting a tree for these people is tantamount to choosing a life mate. It was a wrenching decision, made only after numerous threats that the people would not have a tree if a mutual choice could not be agreed on within the next five seconds. As any fool knows, the tree that looks so small among acres and acres of trees in the wide-open outdoors may not actually be that small when placed inside one corner of a room already filled with furniture. There were multiple arguments about height, shape, height, shape, height, and, oh yeah, shape. There were additional arguments and vying for the honor of 1) who originally picked it out, 2) who gets to saw first, 3) who gets to saw the most, and 4) who gets to saw last. No one argued about who was going to drag it from the back 40 to the pick up spot...

And here is where it occurs to me that could the Christmas-trees-to-be interrupt and be heard, they might have a lot to say. As small people (and big) grasping shiny metal things with long blades and lots of sharp teeth run at it full speed, I can imagine the tree exclaiming, "NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!!!!!! Put that thing DOWN you nasty little human!! You want me to start cutting your legs off!!?! I DIDN'T THINK SO!!"

And nevermind what it would say when it's actually cut down...you can use your imagination. Then it's taken to where they "shake and bale" it. The poor thing is put on a stand and shaken practically to death, so that every last possible needle that is not loose is shaken off: "St-st-st-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-p-p-p-p-eh-eh-eh-t-t-t-t-puh-puh-puh-puh-lee-ee-ee-s-s-s-s-s..." Oh, and heaven forbid Tree is squeezed through the net-baler-thing so his branches are tucked in nice and neat: "Oh GAWD NO PLEASE don't tie me up and make me skinny! I like being fat, my branches so wide and perfectly round - isn't that why you CHOSE ME!?!"

The indignity just continues from here, because now we strap him down on the roof of the Suburban for all the world to see: "No. I MEAN IT! N. O. NO. I'm skinny, ok?!? You shoved me through the eye of a needle and I'm practically suffocating in this netting! I swear I'll stay still - just back off with the ropes ok man?" Sorry...can't hear you...I've got enough rope here to tie down the Russian navy so just lie still ok?

We stopped to eat at a local pizza and pasta joint, and parked smack in front door. Almost, anyway - the Suburban was in the parking spot riiiigght in front of the restaurant's front window where we sat. Tree had to watch us eat in peace, still suffocating in his netting strapped down tight enough we could have flown to the moon and he'd have made it at least mostly intact.

Finally, we're home, and Tree is manhandled into the house, where at least eight hands cut, pull and tug the netting off his formerly fat branches: "Oh, well, so NOW you want me all nice and round and fat like I was in the first place. Good luck with that. I don't think so, Scooter. Uh-uh. The skinny look works for me. Also, now I've got this giant gaping hole over here on my back..."

We bring up boxes and boxes of ornaments and lights from the basement, while Tree thinks he's finally being left at peace.

Before lights and ornaments, naturally comes the tree skirt. Of course, this is beyond reprehensible. "A SKIRT?!? So. Insulting. Really! Help a brother out, I need some PANTS!"

Wrapping the lights around the tree must be the equivalent of choking poor Tree. "ICan'tBreatheICan'tBreatheICan'tBreatheStopCHOKINGME!!!!" *shrieking* "Aiieeeeeeeeeee!!!!!"

Small child approaching Tree with a Lenox ornament weighing approximately 14 pounds: "Really? You want me to hold that on the tippy tip tip of one of my little branches? It's so heavy!!"

[another hefty ornament placed precariously on the outermost tip of a tiny branch]
"No reasonable Tree would hold an ornament like that!! You are not reasonable!"

Seventy-five ornaments later: "Listen people! I'm EXHAUSTED!!" What is WRONG with you! I am So. Tired!"

How about a drink Tree? Have some Red Bull.

"GIMME MORE GIMME MORE GIMME MORE!! I CAN HOLD 'EM I CAN HOLD 'EM GIMME THE BIG ONES BAY-BEEEE!!!"

Two hours later...mysteriously the tree stand is dry. The people are exhausted, and Tree is practically weeping with ornaments on every branch and twig. I'm pretty sure there were some ornaments hanging desparately from single needles. Tree was silent, resigned to his fate. The next morning, however...several priceless heirloom ornaments would be found shattered on Tree's skirt...