Winds of Change

This is an artificial tree year for us. Like 1/2 of the USA population that puts up a Christmas tree at this time of year, we have sucumbed to artificial, made in China, pre-lit, bought at Sears. This is a turn of events from last year when we cut and put up the largest fir tree ever. We tell ourselves that last year was different than this year. The grand kids won't be coming here this year. Next year, or whenever, the grand kids come, we'll have a fresh cut tree from Peacock's Tree Farm then. We'll put this year's artificial tree downstairs and have the fresh cut tree topsides. Well anyways, that's what we tell ourselves. 

This year's choice of an artificial tree came from last year's over-doing-it, and a vow not to repeat that scenario: what with the struggle we had in getting the tree off "Big Red", dragging it into the house, standing it up, needing an 8 foot step ladder to decorate it, watering it several times a day, and, in the end, having to drag it out the front door again, put it on top of "Big Red" and taking it to the East Lansing Patriarch Park where EL City employees would chip it into walking trails covering. 

This year we went to Peacock's Tree Farm twice. Once to order a pine bow wreath, and the second to pick it up the next day. We wanted the smell of pine in the house, we wanted the joy of Christmas that comes from being at Peacocks as we walked in the crunchy snow, slide open the lower barn door, smelled the pine smell, go into the cozy Christmas "stuff" store with its Department 56 lighted houses, stores, and workshops. The Lionel Train, coach cars pulled by a replica steam engine, runs around and around. The ceiling is low, it's warm inside, with display after display of purchasable items for Christmas. Christmas carols are faintly heard, coming from a radio behind the service counter.

Done with our ordering on Friday, we went upstairs to the main floor of the barn now laid out with tables and benches awaiting the school kids for hot chocolate and to learn about farming of an era long since past. As one comes up the drive of Peacock's, wooden wagons and hauling sleds, single cylinder engine tractors, are scattered about, they in various stages of decay. Inside the barn, are pictures of bygone farmers, their implements, costumes, and general rugged appearance. As we walk into the former hay loft, Kathy recalls her father using similar period implements, and, before there were mechanised bailers, wooden haywagons, heaped high with hay from the field,  would be hauled up the incline to the sliding barn door, where the hay was once again pitchforked into piles reaching to the barn roof.

It seems like Christmas time is an opportunity to recollect the past, either our own, or, at least, our culture's past. Traditions help us rewind the scenario to times we can recall. Changing those traditions, like purchasing an artifical tree instead of a fresh cut tree, comes with a little melencholy, as there is a loss and you are not so sure of what is instore for the future. Yet, we change, all the time we change. This holiday, we travel to our grand kids. We will bring a little of the old traditions, like decorating Christmas cookies, with us.