There have been years of trips to the tree farm, with a wagon ride across snowy fields to cut a Christmas tree, then hot chocolate around a bonfire. There were trees cut down at the farmhouse when the older kids were small. And there was the year of our last-minute search, when we found the very last tree for sale in a nearby church yard, the dog idly peeing on it as it stood propped against the fence. That tree was one of our very best lookers! And there have been two years without a tree.
This is the year of The Wee Tree. So tiny that it’s sitting on a table, all 2′ of it looking splendid in every way. That leaves an awful lot of decorations sitting in the cupboard, but I’m feeling strangely happy about that. While I miss the hypnotic scent of a bigger tree that’s just been brought indoors, its branches slowly warming and falling, the simplicity of this one makes it special in its own way. Merry Christmas, wee one.