2008 Woodie Awards
Reed All About It:
When holiday traditions attack
Reed Stratton
Issue date: 12/10/03 Section: Features
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Every Christmas, my extended family visits Whispering Pines Christmas tree farm in the snowy north of Oconto, Wisconsin. Whispering Pines is a huge lot surrounded by nothing but a few quaint cottages and the occasional tree-touting competitors.
A few years back, we had one of the most memorable tree-seeking expeditions of our lives.
Once the family had united in the warming house and toasted a cup of hot cocoa, a horse drawn wagon pulled us deep into a field of Christmas trees lightly speckled with snow. After a half hour, Aunt Lynn and Uncle Mark, Aunt Patti and Uncle Steve, and my family found the perfect trees. We bundled Aunt Patti's and our tree up and loaded them on my dad's trailer. Lynn and Mark hauled theirs separately. We hit the road before dinner and stopped at Luigi's, a local pizza chain, for some deep dish.
After dinner, Aunt Patti, from the car behind us, flagged my dad down by flashing her high beams and honking the horn. We pulled over and discovered that the tailgate of our trailer was slipping off and had propelled nuts and bolts at their van. My dad bounded up the back, using his best Boy Scout square knot, and we were on our way again. All went well until we pulled into my aunt's house to drop their tree off and it was gone!
To compensate for Aunt Patti's misplaced Frasier fir, the whole relation trucked to my Aunt Lynn's that night and "borrowed" her newly-cut 8-foot spruce, replacing it with a feeble Charlie Brown tree and leaving a ransom note.
The misplaced tree happened just on my Mom's side! I won't get into the other side of the family and how my Aunt Nancy split her pants one year during one of our traditional 34,502 hour-long photo sessions. A few years before that, this same aunt actually packaged and wrapped a lump of coal and played it off as my only Christmas present from her!
On that same side of the family, my Mother once received the number one gift on everyone's list, "A Fleet Farm Shoppers Kit." During family gatherings of all kinds, my Uncle Andy, who made her the kit, has a tendency to burst into chill-inducing testimonials about how, if there isn't a Fleet Farm in heaven he is not going. My mom had jollied him for years for his strange, almost morbid obsession with the "Man's Mall," when he finally retaliated. That Christmas my mom cracked open a refrigerator box loaded with all the necessities: Oshkosh B'gosh overalls, a straight-brimmed plaid cap with a buffalo on it, an oversized flannel shirt, a pillow for appearance of added weight and a gift card to the man's mall itself.
A few years back, we had one of the most memorable tree-seeking expeditions of our lives.
Once the family had united in the warming house and toasted a cup of hot cocoa, a horse drawn wagon pulled us deep into a field of Christmas trees lightly speckled with snow. After a half hour, Aunt Lynn and Uncle Mark, Aunt Patti and Uncle Steve, and my family found the perfect trees. We bundled Aunt Patti's and our tree up and loaded them on my dad's trailer. Lynn and Mark hauled theirs separately. We hit the road before dinner and stopped at Luigi's, a local pizza chain, for some deep dish.
After dinner, Aunt Patti, from the car behind us, flagged my dad down by flashing her high beams and honking the horn. We pulled over and discovered that the tailgate of our trailer was slipping off and had propelled nuts and bolts at their van. My dad bounded up the back, using his best Boy Scout square knot, and we were on our way again. All went well until we pulled into my aunt's house to drop their tree off and it was gone!
To compensate for Aunt Patti's misplaced Frasier fir, the whole relation trucked to my Aunt Lynn's that night and "borrowed" her newly-cut 8-foot spruce, replacing it with a feeble Charlie Brown tree and leaving a ransom note.
The misplaced tree happened just on my Mom's side! I won't get into the other side of the family and how my Aunt Nancy split her pants one year during one of our traditional 34,502 hour-long photo sessions. A few years before that, this same aunt actually packaged and wrapped a lump of coal and played it off as my only Christmas present from her!
On that same side of the family, my Mother once received the number one gift on everyone's list, "A Fleet Farm Shoppers Kit." During family gatherings of all kinds, my Uncle Andy, who made her the kit, has a tendency to burst into chill-inducing testimonials about how, if there isn't a Fleet Farm in heaven he is not going. My mom had jollied him for years for his strange, almost morbid obsession with the "Man's Mall," when he finally retaliated. That Christmas my mom cracked open a refrigerator box loaded with all the necessities: Oshkosh B'gosh overalls, a straight-brimmed plaid cap with a buffalo on it, an oversized flannel shirt, a pillow for appearance of added weight and a gift card to the man's mall itself.