Unwilling to join the ranks of crazy bargain-hunters on Black Friday, my husband and I have established our own tradition for the day after Thanksgiving: going out to hunt down our very own Alaska Christmas tree.
Before I moved to Alaska, I thought there were only two options for having a tree in your home: buying one from a Christmas tree lot, or having an artificial tree. My mother, god bless her, insisted we never have an artificial tree, so each year my mother and I would drive to the tree lot on Murray Ridge Road and tried to find the prettiest tree our pennies could buy.
We did pretty well most years:
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| (Please ignore my brothers. "Sullen Hippie" was very "in" at the time." |
Blech! Still, it could've been worse:
Oh my god, can you imagine? Santa would have a seizure.
Our family Christmas trees were always fat and dense, even if they weren't always perfectly shaped. There was never a question whether the branches were strong enough to support our ornaments and lights. -- But I've come to understand that's because all midwestern conifers look like that.
Even after moving to Alaska, sixteen years ago, I was temporarily granted a continuance in my belief that Christmas trees are sturdy. See, my first home in Anchorage had a vaulted ceiling, with a peak of about 12 feet. Like most men, my husband felt we certainly shouldn't waste any of that height, and so we sought a 12-foot tree. Of course!
In Anchorage, you can only legally cut down your own tree by driving about 60 miles either north or south to enter designated legal tree-cutting areas. Well, I should amend that to include the military land here in Anchorage city limits, but to get on base and cut down a tree, you have to have a permit. And in typical military fashion, the permit office is only open every other Thursday from 3:17pm to 4:03pm, being closed all months whose names contain the letter "r."
So, that first year, we set off, south to Johnson Pass, to seek our tree. And, boy, did we find a doozy:
As you can see, the tree was enormous. But it was also absolutely gorgeous. And I blame that tree for every disappointing tree we've had since.
The following year, we moved into a more reasonable house with only 8 foot ceilings. So we set out to find an 8 foot tree. In Alaska. What we quickly discovered is that most 6-8 foot Alaskan conifers look like this:
Look familiar? Like maybe the older taller version of this guy?
If you think I'm trusting my grandmother's 80-year-old snowman globe to one of those branches, you're sadly mistaken.
Still, there's something to be said for tradition. And sometimes you just gotta deal with what you've got available. I don't have to hang Grannie's ornament this year, after all.
Of course, the selection process is almost always complicated by snow. So you've gotta tromp around (through snow) to look at snow-coated trees and try to decide which one might make a good Christmas tree. Be careful of the booby traps however:
1. Nested Trees: Surely there must be a good tree in that bunch, right? I mean, sure, the first tree is a little big, but look at all those others!
As it turns out, the other trees are actually the problem. That many trees that close together make them grow up too close to each other, inhibiting branch growth, so you end up with a one-sided tree (if that).
2. The Double Tree: Well, that looks like a pretty good tree, right there in the middle. Kinda fat, nice shape. -- But, look closely: it's actually two trees, growing right next to each other. Cut 'em down and you'll never cram both into the tree stand in any reasonable fashion. In fact, our first tree (the 12-footer) was a double tree, but it was tall enough that it finally converged into a single trunk down low [For all you scientists out there, I do realize I'm saying this backwards. But you know what I mean. Cut a girl a break.] so we were able to use it.
So there's a lot of searching involved:
Searching, and shaking:
Finally, we found our tree:
Next comes clearing the lower branches to cut it down:
(The dogs were very helpful.)
Then the small matter of getting it back to the truck. Oh yeah, and INTO the truck:
My dad used to have a saying: "Ten pounds of sh*t in a five pound bag." Yeah, this was like that.
But we got her home safe. Cashew wasn't too sure about all the furniture rearrangements, but she knows any blanket on the floor is where she's allowed to curl up:
Now the tree is up and awaiting decoration. We really enjoy just having the plain tree up for a couple of days. She's like a lot of Alaskans -- On first glance, she may not look like much, but if you gaze upon her long enough, she's really quite beautiful.
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