It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Never mind that Thanksgiving is tomorrow. This morning, I saw the first Christmas tree vendor of the year (for me at least) setting up shop just outside the 18th Street 1 station. It made me think of going to the Christmas tree farm with my family many years ago. My brother and I would run from tree to tree, breathing in the frigid piney-ness of it all and falling in love with each tree we spotted. My parents taught us to look for symmetry and gaps in the branches, and finally my dad would down our choice. (I think I remember him sawing - do people do that any more?) In later years, we'd just pull into one of the empty lots that played host to Christmas tree hawkers each winter to pick out our pre-cut tree. It was a little less festive, but the air still smelled just the way it was supposed to, and we would buy hot apple cider and kettle corn to celebrate our purchase. For the last few years, my mom has bought trees from various high school teams who sell them as a fundraiser. I think you just specify the size you want and pick up your tree from the school parking lot a few weeks later, where a group of adorable, earnest high school boys, eager to show off their still-new muscles, help you load the tree onto the roof of your car. 

It's strange to think that most children who grow up in New York never experience any of this. Sometimes the tree vendors will string up a few lights or play holidays songs on a portable CD player, but that's about as festive as it gets. On the other hand, they've got Rockafeller Center and every store on Fifth Avenue if they're feeling a bit short on holiday spirit. And I'm not one to talk; the only tree in my apartment this year will be the eleven-inch wire tree my mom sent to me a few years ago, complete with tiny ornaments on strings. Maybe I'll burn a pine-scented candle in the vicinity to complete the effect.