by Sarah Godfrey

“PUSH!” my mom yelled from the other side of the car. As I pushed with every muscle in my body, the 12 foot tree came tumbling off the roof of our 8 passenger Expedition. Each year my family and I go to a Christmas tree farm to pick out a perfectly full Frasier Fir to call our own. During the Christmas season in the Godfrey household, there is nothing of greater importance than the Christmas tree.

Growing up, my four siblings and I always looked forward to getting our tree for Christmas. We always went to the North Pole Christmas Tree Farm. We took the whole day to drive what at the time was a tortuous thirty minutes to spend hours at the North Pole. There was hot apple cider, games, and even a petting zoo with a deer that was obviously used for Santa’s sleigh. Although it has long since closed down and become a new subdivision, we remember it as the hot chocolate-serving, carol-singing, candy cane-giving haven that it once was.

Since the closing of our beloved Christmas tree farm, my family has been going to the local nursery to get our trees. Not as glamorous, but my mom and siblings bring the same enthusiasm as they did before. Now that we’re older, us kids have become less and less enthusiastic about many family activities, but some how, the process of picking out our tree releases the inner-child in us all.

This year when we got our tree, instead of the usual bickering that goes on between my three younger siblings, I looked around to see my 15 year old sister playing hide-and-seek with my 9 year old brother between the trees. Instead of my mom being stressed out about how much the tree would cost, I turned to see her singing “Deck the Halls” while roaming the rows. As I stood there I thought to myself how embarrassing my family was. I also realized how I could not be happier that I was a part of this weird, vocally-challenged, Christmas tree-obsessed bunch.