Extended Family

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

Shimmering trinkets. Memories hang on branches at every height. Your soft white glow illuminates the room and your corner in magical light. You may not be the tallest, nor are you the first, but you’re ours. An honorary family member. That’s what makes you unique. 

The tallest? We didn’t want or need something that towers over us in the room. That’s part of the reason that it takes Dad so long to find you every year. I wander among the rows of firs and spruce with my family helping him pick out the perfect tree. My older sister points to one. Too tall. Mom finds one in our row. Nah, too chubby. I single out another farther down my row. A tad sparse. 

Dad lets out a triumphant, “Ah!” He fluffs your branches. “Perfect.” 

After some haggling with the owner of the nursery, we cut you down and tie you to the roof for your journey home. I hop into the back seat, watching a silver cloud drift among the twinkling stars. You are the first, and most important, milestone of our holiday season. Santa will be coming soon, and with him a trove of presents and treats. 

The first? Mom likes to recount the history of the Christmas tree, or Tannenbaum, every year as we set you up in your corner. 

“The first Christmas trees,” Mom says, sipping her steaming cider, “were used in holiday celebrations by the Germans. They would hike through the forests until they found just the right one, then haul it back to their homes on sleds.” 

Dad tells Angie “Go run some water in your basin.” 

“Some say,” Mom continues, “that Martin Luther was responsible for adding lighting to the trees.” She takes another nip from her reindeer mug. “Legend says that while walking home one winter night, Martin was awestruck by the beauty of how the stars seemingly hung in the limbs of the pines. Once he was home, Luther added small candles to his tree.” 

Dad tightens your bolts into place. “How does she look?”

I check you from every angle. “Seems straight to me.” 

Mom helps Angie unbox the light strands. “It wasn’t until the reign of Queen Victoria that decorating trees with ornaments and garlands caught on around the world.”

I help Dad wrap you in lights, taking care to tuck them in between your branches without breaking any. 

Once we’re finished, Mom passes out a set of painted wooden ornaments. “I remember these.” 

I hang my sledding elf on a branch. “Me, too. We stayed up working on these for hours every night for a whole week that year.” 

She hands Angie a Santa painted with purple hair. “Your sister insisted that her Santa was supposed to have purple hair.”

Angie’s eyes light up. “I remember! How old was I?”

Mom’s gaze searches the ceiling. “Maybe five or six.” 

Dad takes some red and silver bulbs and hangs them. “Your mother was so hung up on getting them to look perfect”—a chuckle—“and you went and slathered a brush full of purple on Santa.” 

Mom passes me an ornament with a family of black bears on it. I spin it around to find the words Gatlinburg, TN painted along its base. “From our vacation?”

Mom nods, smiling. “I picked it up at the visitor’s center while you guys were using the bathroom.” 

She hands another to Angie. This one is a miniature hospital with a Christmas tree on its top. “From—”

“When I got my tonsils out,” my sister finishes Mom’s thought. “I thought that was the worst Christmas ever at the time.”

Mom hangs a golden fox on a branch. “A steady diet of Jello and ice cream for a week that year.”

Dad fetches a porcelain Santa decked out in blue and gold with a flying W-V on his coat. He hangs his favorite ornament on a lower branch. It spins around to reveal a big “11-0” painted across the bottom. He grins. “Wouldn’t be the same without ole Mountaineer Santa.”

Once all of your ornaments are up, Mom totes a small gift-wrapped box to the bookshelf in the corner. “This year’s special gift for the Pickle Prize.”

Our faces transform into the guises of greedy gold miners. Last year’s prize was a ten dollar gift card. A box? My curiosity’s piqued. 

“As always,” mom says, “you won’t know when I’ll hang the pickle ornament, and you won’t know where. The first one to find it before Christmas morning gets the Pickle Prize.”

We take a step back and admire you in all your splendor. Our heritage hung on your boughs. 

“Another beautiful tree,” Mom says. 

Once they’ve all settled back in for the evening, I crawl under you and stretch out. I’ve always loved to look up into your blinking lights and sparkling ornaments and imagine that I’m an adventurer resting out under the stars in a pine forest. Tomorrow’s my big day of venturing into the mines in search of a long forgotten treasure. 

No, you’re not the first Christmas tree, nor are you the tallest, but you’re ours. If even for five or six weeks, you do more than represent our family, you are family. 

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WV-based author Joshua Dyer writes in several different genres and styles including horror, fantasy, science fiction, and mainstream fiction. He has written for the Los Angeles Times, where some of his fiction won their “Reader’s Choice Award” for best story of the year. When he’s not writing, Dyer likes to read, study languages, play video games, and bake stuff.

More articles on Christmas in WV—

The Beautiful Holiday Trees of Adaland Mansion(Opens in a new browser tab)

Christmas was the only day we had oysters(Opens in a new browser tab)

Old Christmas superstition(Opens in a new browser tab)