Growing up in Vermont, getting a Christmas tree meant one of two things:
1. Hiking miles into the woods to chop down a monumental pine, then throwing out your back while struggling to drag it home through four feet of snow drifts and a beaver dam.
2. Going to the local tree farm and essentially repeating option #1.
Here in Brooklyn, we do things a little differently. The hardest part is deciding whether it's in the Christmas spirit to haggle over the price of three-foot Charlie Brown tree, and whether you should still tip the friendly French Canadian who just emptied your wallet. We must have "Baby's First Christmas" madness, since this year we didn't haggle, and still tipped.
Tonight, we decorate!
Update: Our Tree
4 comments:
Do you go to the guy in front of CVS on 9th street? That was our guy! Even though we went to the farm I worked at and had a nice time choosing ours there, I did miss our Brooklyn tree guy a little. :-)
Yep! That's the one. He was lovely, and I'm glad we did our part to help send his kids to private school. :)
Charlie would be jealous...
:-) You know I didn't expect to run into the same problem out here, but it turns out the climate in Boulder isn't the right one to grow Christmas trees. Everyone around here has to get them from kind of far away too, unless you want to go into the mountains and get a funny looking illegal one. So, we did not escape the crazy tree prices after all. I did get an employee discount though--$20 off--not bad!
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