After Mass this past Sunday, the decorating committee advanced to the altar to take the Christmas tree down.
Before we reached the back of the church, they had half of it dismantled. The mothers around me looked on with envy and awe, making me think that there is much money to be made in interior un-decorating. I bet there are a lot of people who would gladly pay $100 for someone to come take their trees down.
For $10, the local Boy Scouts will haul your tree away from the curb, but good citizens though they are, they refuse to strip it of ornaments and lug the thing outside, which is what I really want done.
With a new determination to reuse and repurpose — doing my little part to save the Earth – I no longer throw away our tree. Instead, when it leaves the living room, it goes outside the kitchen window, so we can enjoy the birds that perch in its branches until spring, when it starts to brown. When that happens, I’ll strip off the remaining fragrant needles to sew into sachets. Then what’s left of the tree goes behind the barn to dry out in preparation for another task: serving as the Yule log next Christmas Eve.
But before any of that can happen, somebody’s got to take the thing down.
And yup, it’s Jan. 12, and it’s still with us. I’ve written about this before here, the ever-lengthening Christmas-tree creep. In my 20s, I always put away Christmas on Jan. 2. I seem to add a few days to that every year. The tree has never before made it to February, but may yet. Maybe even this year.
But for once, I’ve got a good excuse: Our tree, possibly the Prettiest Tree Ever, proudly refuses to wilt. It’s still regal and green and possessed of most of its needles, even though I quit watering it on Christmas Eve.
Previous trees died promptly, some before their time. This tree looks like we just put it up. It still smells wonderful, too. It seems wrong to put it outside just because Nat King Cole has vanished for another year.
Still, there comes a time, at some murky point between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, when a still-lit Christmas tree becomes not a symbol of joy, but a public advertisement of sloth. So my tree may still be up come Mardi Gras.
But if it is, I’ll be closing the blinds.
Every year, I entertain the idea of not putting up a Christmas tree because I know that what goes up must come down. But alas, my heart overcomes my reason and the tree goes up and, as is tradition in our household, at some point I say, “This is the prettiest little Christmas tree ever!” We drag our old tree to the woods at the back of the property where it becomes part of the forest floor. I am sure there is some little creature nestling down in its branches for the winter as I write this.
For the last few years, I have taken down the tree on New Year’s Day. I just like it all gone! But – (and I know this sounds odd) I always feel so bad for the tree. It had to lose it’s life to give us a few weeks of joy. So I take it out, stick it the yard with the lights still on and let it shine until February.
Jen, How I’ve missed you, my kindred spirit! I can completely relate to your story, as I have taken more than a little abuse as to my timing, or lack thereof, in the de-Christmas department. I am a fan of Story People (www.storypeople.com) and my friend is threatening to buy me yet another print of theirs called “Season of Joy.” It says, “She asked me when the season of joy was supposed to end, and I said I didn’t really think there was an exact date, so we left the tree up till June that year.” Maybe we both need one.
“de-Christmasing” … I love it.
Very funny!
I think it’s nice to leave the tree up for at least two weeks after New Year’s Day. It continues to provide cheer when cheer is most needed, i.e., as the Christmas bills arrive and as the realization that there are three more months of winter sinks in.
In New England, the twinkle lights serve a purpose … adding some cheer to the drab, cold days of January and February. And it LOOKS like Christmastime here (at least in normal years) until at least March. Don’t you think that’s why people leave decorations up longer here than in the South?
I agree with all your observations here. Although my own mother, who was an old-school Crankee Yankee if ever there was one, demanded that the d**n tree be put up NO EARLIER than Christmas Eve and removed NO LATER than New Year’s Day. So ya never know!
Crankee Yankee — isn’t that redundant?
You’re funny and you’re right!
Tee Hee!!!! I am going to win our little contest!!
you may yet! I had a small fit and stripped the house of all Santa Clauses yesterday.