{"id":31281,"date":"2025-12-17T10:55:50","date_gmt":"2025-12-17T15:55:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/?p=31281"},"modified":"2025-12-21T17:55:45","modified_gmt":"2025-12-21T22:55:45","slug":"the-old-oak-and-the-christmas-tree-place-2025","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/the-old-oak-and-the-christmas-tree-place-2025\/","title":{"rendered":"The Old Oak and the Christmas Tree Place 2025"},"content":{"rendered":"


\nThe Old Oak and the Christmas Tree Place 2025<\/span><\/h1>\n

Preface<\/span><\/h3>\n

This story started thirty years ago when my youngest son was 14. I wrote this essay when he was a freshman in college and living away from home for the first time. He’s 44 now and has a family of his own. We had our annual Christmas tree hunt for 25 years; it was a tradition. And now he carries on that tradition with his own children. Hopefully, his children will carry on that tradition long after I’m gone from this Earth.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

I hope you enjoy reading this essay. It is the true story of a young boy and his dad searching for the perfect Christmas tree. This essay is an old one, but the story it tells is timeless. It’s the story of a father, his son, and the search for the perfect Christmas Tree.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

In Search of The Perfect Christmas Tree<\/span><\/h2>\n

\u201cOne hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind of car I drove; but the world may be a little better, because I was important in the life of a child.\u201d (Forest E. Witcraft)<\/em><\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

For twelve years now, my youngest son and I have gone in search of the perfect Christmas tree. It was easier for us to carry out these yearly treks when he was younger and lived at home. But, as kids tend to do, he grew up, went off to college, and then to grad school, and now lives nearly four hours away.<\/span><\/p>\n

But one thing about my youngest son, he\u2019s a stickler for tradition. Neither mud, rain, snow, sleet, fog, thunderstorms, floods, nor sub-zero winds (and we\u2019ve sloshed and nearly-froze-to-death through many of them) would stop him from completing our traditional yearly mission. And, who am I to scoff at tradition? I\u2019m the family elder (and I get reminded of that often \u2013 even though I\u2019m a child inside. It seems that your children never let you forget your age). I guess that makes me the current \u201cKeeper of the Tradition\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

Each year for twelve years now, during the first week or two in December, we set off on a journey in search of the perfect Christmas tree. This year, because of my son\u2019s schedule, we had to move our date up a little \u2013 but the tradition must continue!<\/span><\/p>\n

The area in which I live is mostly rural with an abundance of small farms, forests, and, fortunately, Christmas tree farms. I say fortunately, because if one is in search of the perfect Christmas tree, one needs choices and lots of them.<\/span><\/p>\n

For most people, getting a Christmas tree is a half-hour jaunt. Go to the local tree lot, pick out a tree, throw it in the trunk, and head home (or get the perfect artificial tree, which by the way is an oxymoron). But not for us. Most of our sojourns last six or seven hours and one hundred twenty miles or so. This year was to be no different.<\/span><\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t seen my youngest son in nearly two months, but once he got back home and we took off on our search, it seemed to me that we had never been apart. We were just as comfortable with one another as we have always been. I told him that this is how you know you\u2019re close to someone \u2013 you can be apart for months, but when you get together again, it\u2019s like you were never parted.<\/span><\/p>\n

This year happened to be particularly cold, windy, icy, damp, and miserable. The perfect day for one of our best traditions.<\/span><\/p>\n

Our \u201cChristmas tree farm of choice\u201d is one we can never find. It seems every year, we forget how to get there. Some years, we never make it there because we cannot find it. It seems that the months from Christmas to Christmas last but a few weeks anymore, yet either my memory is going or it\u2019s kind of fun to forget. I\u2019m certain my son’s memory is not going yet, I think he forgets on purpose too.<\/span><\/p>\n

Anyway, we did find it last year, and wouldn\u2019t you know, we found it this year too. I cheated and called a friend of mine who grew up in the area where the farm is, if you must know. But when we arrived at \u201cGranny\u2019s Christmas Tree Farm\u201d bright and early around 10:00 AM, there was no one around; the place was deserted. My son even got out of the truck and went and knocked on several doors. No answer. Bah! Humbug! With a little sadness (for we just knew the perfect tree was hiding somewhere on Granny\u2019s 38 acres just waiting for us) and a lot of determination, we set off, once again, on our yearly quest for the \u201cperfect\u201d Christmas tree.<\/span><\/p>\n

Several tree farms and a hundred miles later, the back of my truck was barren. No tree at all. The perfect Christmas tree was just as elusive this year as it has been every other year. Perfection, it seems, is never easy to find.<\/span><\/p>\n

With wet feet and red, rosy cheeks, we remain undaunted. Our mission is not complete. Onward we go. Four hours and still not even close to finding that elusive perfect Christmas tree. As it turns out, that\u2019s s good thing. It gives us plenty of time to talk. This year, I discovered that my son has a little philosopher in him. He pointed out that among humankind, it seems it\u2019s always the \u201cbeautiful\u201d people that Lady Luck smiles on the most. You know what I mean: the best jobs, the most money, all the best of all the stuff that doesn\u2019t really matter.<\/span><\/p>\n

In all his youthful wisdom, he pointed out that in the world of Christmas trees, it pays to be ugly. The ugly trees are there year after year, watching their \u201cbeautiful\u201d friends getting sawed or chopped down and taken away to be decorated and admired for a couple of weeks, after which they are dragged to the tree lawn and hauled off by men in filthy, tattered work coats \u2013 and thrown unceremoniously into the back of a big garbage truck. In the world of Christmas Trees, the ugly survive. It’s the ugly trees that survive and stand tall, year after year, in fields full of holes and stumps.<\/span><\/p>\n

After making our tour of every Christmas tree farm we could find, we decided that, for the first time in the history of our tradition, we may have to give up for the day and return home empty-handed. And, try the next day. But we decided to give Granny\u2019s Christmas Tree Farm one final try. And it\u2019s a good thing we did.<\/span><\/p>\n

We pulled into Granny\u2019s and found that it was now open, although certainly not overrun with Christmas tree seekers. There was only one other car there. So, we found ourselves alone to roam thirty-eight acres in search of the perfect Christmas tree.<\/span><\/p>\n

Granny\u2019s land is some of the most beautiful land I\u2019ve ever seen in this area. This is northern Ohio. We don\u2019t have mountains. We don\u2019t even have big hills. The glaciers, millions of years ago, made sure of that. But Granny\u2019s land is full of woods, streams, and rolling land that seems to stretch as far as the eye can see. How lucky one would be to live in a place like this. Quiet, pristine, bucolic, and so far away from the \u201cmadding crowd\u201d.<\/span><\/p>\n

We walked and walked and walked the trails, through the Christmas trees. We looked at every tree with an artist\u2019s eyes. We sized up hundreds of trees to see how close they came to the perfect Christmas tree we envisioned. As we were walking the southern edge of the farm, we spotted a huge, towering oak tree. It has stood in that same spot for over four hundred fifty years. When that oak was young, native Americans were the only Americans. That tree was over one hundred and fifty years old when the Declaration of Independence was signed. When that tree was in its youth, the Elizabethan Age in England had just begun with the death of Queen Mary and the ascension to the throne of Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII by Anne Boleyn.<\/span><\/p>\n

And there it stood, majestically above everything, watching us, here in the year 2005. If only we could get that tree to tell us what it has seen. The changes that it must have witnessed. How strange it was to see such a majestic oak in the middle of thousands of Christmas trees. We want to go back and photograph it when its leaves are painted for autumn, and its long shadows stretch long into a crisp autumn evening. We stood and looked in awe, and I think I saw it looking back at us. If it did, it was nothing if not amused.<\/span><\/p>\n

We were cold, wet, and hungry by this time. But the perfect Christmas tree was waiting: out there, somewhere. Another half-hour passed, and suddenly my son said, \u201cDad, look at this one!\u201d I knew from the sound of his voice (we are experienced in this sort of hunt, you know!) that indeed the end of our quest drew near. I cast a critical eye at the blue spruce he was pointing at, and indeed, it was the perfect Christmas tree.<\/span><\/p>\n

I held the tree upright as he carefully sawed the trunk \u2013 soon it would be in my truck, and another successful Christmas tree hunt would be complete. I felt a little tug of sadness at that thought \u2013 I always look forward to this adventure each year, no matter how old my son gets (or how old I get), it\u2019s just as much fun now as it was when he was a young boy \u2013 and now, it was over for this year. But, years come and go so quickly anymore \u2013 before I know it, we\u2019ll be out there next year, cold, wet, and muddy, and sharing some special moments. And savoring each one of them.<\/span><\/p>\n

With the tree harvested and us exhausted, we carried the heavy tree a little way and then spotted \u201cBob\u201d (the owner of the farm) approaching in his pickup truck (with tree-hauling trailer attached) \u2013 come to rescue us, I\u2019m sure! It was a welcome sight to our shivering, weary eyes! Bob helped us place our \u201cperfect\u201d Christmas tree in the trailer, and he drove us and our prize back to my truck. We paid for the tree and put it in my truck. Then, we headed home. A mission accomplished. A tradition preserved.<\/span><\/p>\n

As we were unloading the truck and carrying the tree around to the back of my house, I looked at my son and thought about how close we had grown over the years, and how proud I was of him and all he\u2019s become. I knew then exactly what a perfect Christmas looks like and what it means.<\/span><\/p>\n

What makes our perfect Christmas trees perfect is not the way they look. What makes our Christmas trees perfect is the love and tradition that go into each one of them. What makes our Christmas trees perfect is knowing that my son will carry on our tradition with his children. And, long after I\u2019m gone, my son, his children, and his grandchildren will carry on the tradition that we started. And, I have a feeling that even after I\u2019m long gone, I will still be right there with them \u2013 \u00a0because someone will be remembering me.<\/span><\/p>\n

It makes me feel good to think that the world might just be a little better place beca<\/span>use I was important in the life of a child.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Old Oak and the Christmas Tree Place 2025 Preface This story started thirty years ago when my youngest son was 14. I wrote this essay when he was a freshman in college and living away from home for the first time. He’s 44 now and has a family of his own. We had our annual Christmas tree\u2026 Read More »<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26737,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[228],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31281"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=31281"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31281\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":31313,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31281\/revisions\/31313"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26737"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31281"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=31281"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=31281"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}