Bundled up nice and warm from head to toe with home-knit mittens, felt-lined boots and visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads, we’d climb into the back of Dad’s old Chevy pick-up for the annual Christmas tree hunt. Fifty odd years ago children didn’t have to be belted in, so the five of us always rode in the back of Dad’s truck! About three weeks before Christmas, with Mom riding shotgun, scouting the forest for that perfect Christmas tree, our entire family made our way over snow-covered back roads singing carols, excitedly anticipating the coming festive season. And those hunting trips are my happiest memories of Christmas! Year after year, our parents’ difference in opinion of what constituted the “perfect” tree was simply part of the annual ritual. Even though there was enough dense forest reasonably close to our house in Stephenville to allow a relatively quick selection, the hunt usually turned into an all-afternoon event 40 miles north of nowhere. Mom, our commander-in-chief, always insisted the branches be thick and evenly distributed, covering every square inch of the seven-foot tree that would grace our living room! Whereas Dad thought all trees were beautiful! I have to admit, there were times he’d point out a perfect tree, and we’d appreciate why Mom was so fussy! Usually, by the time our adventure neared an end, there wasn’t much daylight left and we’d be getting cold and hungry. Dad would be tired of driving and wading in sometimes thigh-deep snow to check out possibilities, with Mom still adamant there was something wrong with every tree they looked at. But it wasn’t until Mom got tired that it was time to quit. By then, she’d choose pretty much any tree and a very relieved Dad would quickly chop it down, dragging it to the truck before she changed her mind. When we’d get home the perfect tree was quite often lopsided, or we’d end up with a spruce instead of a fir, and once in a while we had a tree that was so dry it turned into a blasty bough within two weeks no matter how much we watered it! But by the time all the lights, tinsel and decorations were on it, our tree was absolutely perfect! Looking back, the focus of Christmas was the joy of family - not today’s materialistic version of the holidays, and I realize those beautiful memories of the annual tree hunt are priceless gifts I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. Nowadays, as a grandmother, the annual tree hunt simply means a trip to the attic for the artificial replica! But with every passing year I cling to at least part of our family tradition, putting up the tree three weeks before Christmas, and weighing it down with enough decorations to send it crashing into the basement!   Submitted By: Nancy Crossman