Sverre and our niece are out on the hunt for a Christmas tree, one that will somehow manage to convey Christmas cheer while simultaneously limiting its size to the constraints of our hallway. The living room was scrutinized closely, but with a daybed, sofa, TV, doors, fireplace and bookshelves, adding a tree into the mix would likely induce claustrophobia.
I've remained behind to finish clearing away space and fetching the tree decorations from the basement. Hopefully the two hunters will return with a full (by Norwegian standards, they like the spaced branches), lovely little tree. Unlike two years ago....
(Insert flashback sound effects here.)
In 2009 we were still out at the farm. We were busy with the horses, celebrating Christmas with family, and Sverre was working over the holidays. It wasn't until the day of Christmas (the 25th, Norwegians count Christmas as starting on the 24th, or even 23rd...after three Christmases here the concept is still shaky for me) that we realized we hadn't set up a tree. The Christmas before there had been no space in our first apartment, and in this new house there was no excuse. We found an axe, dressed in our warmest clothes and took Max with us on a trek across the pastures and into the forests surrounding the farm.
That year the snow had fallen so deeply by Christmas that Sverre had to break trail in front of us. Max's short legs had him at a disadvantage, and he followed closely on our heels. Literally. Every few steps one would feel his small, though not insubstantial, body smack into calves and boots as he hopped from foot track to track. We floundered around in the forest through the deep drifts until we finally found it: a little beauty frosted in snow.
Max and I caught our breath while Sverre dug out the trunk as deep as he could manage, and then set to hacking with a will. He paused, rested back on his heels and said, "This is going to be really heavy to carry home." We assured him we would help. He reached down, grasped the tree firmly around the trunk, pulled...
...And nearly fell over as the skinny, pathetic twig of a tree sprang out from its covering of snow. Our glorious, wondrous find turned out to be a weedy little thing. We stared at it as Sverre held it aloft over his head, in a parody of victory.
Damn.
It wasn't like we could throw it away, this Saddest of Christmas Trees, so we walked back to the house with it slung over Sverre's shoulder. I had received all the Christmas ornaments my aunts and uncles had gifted me over the years from my mother in California. We crammed every single ornament we could on it, grabbed our coffees and leftover brioche, and settled back to look at our achievement. Our very first Christmas tree in Norway.
Some of us didn't even want to acknowledge its existence, and went downstairs to occupy ourselves with other things that didn't remotely resemble trees.
Flash-forward to the present and the searchers have returned with a perfect tree. We have set it up and decorated it with the help of a very enthusiastic four-year-old. All of the ornaments are hung in clumps,with gold spindles on one side of the tree and red on the other. It will take much head scratching and a beer or two to figure out how to rearrange the thing into a presentable tree without making it totally obvious that I've redone all her work.
But for now, it stands and shines in the hallway; signaling yet another year, yet another Christmas.
At least this year we have it set up before Christmas Eve.
