Will There Be A Christmas Tree?

I have never lived in a house with an artificial Christmas tree.

Growing up in my parents' house, we always had a real tree. My father and younger sister, Jen, made it a ritual to go to the nearest tree lot; usually, on Merivale Road: either at the corner of Merivale and Meadowlands, where the Wendy's and Tim Hortons now stand, or next to the Dairy Queen, where Merivale and Clyde meet. They would choose the tree that Jen liked the best, under the guidance of the person who would be paying for it.

They always got a nice tree.

When DW and I first moved in together, we'd pick up a tree from IKEA. They had a great deal where you would pay $15 for the tree and they would give you a $15 coupon for the store. It was like getting a free tree.

The rewards of tree hunting, 2010.

When we had kids and they were old enough, we took them to a tree farm near North Gower. It was a great outing. We'd be ferried to the nursery on a horse-drawn wagon, we'd wander the rows of spruces and pines, and we'd use a hacksaw to fell the tree that our kids chose (under DW's and my guidance).

We'd take the tree back to the entrance, by wagon, where we were met by a bonfire and free hot chocolate and homemade oatmeal cookies. They would wrap our tree in netting, we would load it onto our minivan, and we'd head home.

As the girls grew into their teens, they lost interest in our Christmas tree ritual, and DW and I ended up going to the tree farm on our own. Only, the first time we did this as a duo, we found that the magic was gone. And so that was the end of that family ritual.

Since then, DW and I have gone back to IKEA for our trees. The trees were more expensive (though still reasonable, compared to the tree farm) and I don't remember receiving a coupon, but it's a quick and easy way to get a decent Christmas tree.

Our 2010 tree.

But this year, DW has told me that IKEA will not be offering trees. Apparently, they are unable to secure a supply and so we will have to go elsewhere to get our tree, if we get one at all.

On Thursday, after work, DW and I will be heading to Toronto. From there, early on Friday morning, we'll be flying to Cuba for a much-needed vacation.

My parents will be dropping in on our house, to feed and check in on the cats. But because Cece and Finn have never been left alone in the house—they were born during the pandemic and have been with us since they were eight weeks old—there's no way that we can leave them alone with a Christmas tree. Even our four-year-old cat, Camille, isn't immune to the draws of a bright and shiny tree with ornaments hanging from it.

We won't be able to get a tree until December 18, at the earliest, and by then we fear that supplies will be scant. We fear that we'll be left with a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. And we fear that because supplies will be low, we'll have to pay a fortune for a sad little tree.

"You know, Christmas doesn't live or die under a tree," I told DW. "Remember the story of The Grinch."

"We're going to have a tree if I have to scoop up fallen branches from the lot," was her stern reply.

So I don't know what we'll have in the corner of our living room, this year, on Christmas Day. But as long as I have my family around me, I don't care.