Cutting Down the Christmas Tree, Elmira Style

Yesterday, we went to the tree farm and cut down the tree.  Thank God I've got two teenage boys to help me because each year it seems like our tree gets bigger -- or I get weaker.  It's one or the other.  In any event, it was very nice to have two more sets of capable hands help me carry the tree back to the car.

As usual, while I tied the tree to the car, I had to field questions from the peanut gallery.  They're all variations on a theme:

• "Are you sure the tree is going to stay on the car?"
• "Is it tied tightly enough?"
• "Shouldn't it be centered on the roof?"

I patiently (for me, at least) assured them that everything was going to be fine.  Then, as we drove home, more questions came:

• "Are you sure it's still there?" 
• "Is it moving?"
• "What would you do if it fell off?"

The last question is my favorite.  I like how it's what would you do, not what would we do.

Every time I go through this, I think back to growing up in Elmira and the tree cutting adventures we had when I was young.  We used to cut down our tree at Mt. Saviour Monastery out in Pine City.  All the kids would pile into the car with my dad.  My mother was either too smart to make the trip or my father was too smart to let her.  It was about a 20 minute drive from our house.  We headed over the Chemung River, out through Golden Glow, and then up the big hill on Monastery Drive.

Mt. Saviour Monastery was a 250 acre tract of land on which some Benedictine monks raised sheep and got closer to God.  My parents had a knack for making friends with monks and nuns (don't ask).  Somehow, they got permission to have us go up each year and cut down a tree.  Mt. Savior was not a tree farm.  When you went up there to cut down a tree, you were simply parking the car, heading off into the woods and looking for a pine tree.

The first year or two we went up there, there might have been a decent looking tree.  But, after we took those down, we were pretty much out of luck.  You have to remember -- these were the woods.  You'd hike around looking for pines.  There were quite a few 2 - 4 foot trees.  There were plenty of 20 foot trees.  The trick was to find a good 10-12 footer that didn't mind having the top cut off.  That's what we'd usually end up doing.

After we got the tree down, the real fun started.  First, we had to get the tree back to the car, which was usually a station wagon.  We never had a roof rack.  But, we had to tie the tree down.  My dad would get the tree on top of the car, stick some of the kids back inside the car, have them roll the windows down, and then tie the tree down, running twine right through the car.  After the tree was suitably tied down, the kids in the middle row would roll up the window, the rest of the kids would pile into the way back of the car, and home we would go, anxiously hoping that the tree wouldn't slide off the car (or that the car, itself, wouldn't break down which always seemed to be a distinct possibility in those days).

As I've gotten older, I've often wondered what was going through my father's head on these trips.  None of it could have been pleasant.  Most of it probably couldn't have been printed.  But, somehow he got through it.  My guess is he'll never forget those trips.  I know I haven't.