The Christmas Tree Mission

December 4, 2023December 4, 2023 J.M.Christmas, Christmas Tree, Connecticut, Family, Humor, New EnglandLeave a comment

Over the weekend my family and I got our Christmas tree. It’s a beaut. Nice and full, smells fantastic, strung up with lights it illuminates the study. We love this year’s tree. On top of everything, it was exceedingly easy to get. There is a small farm down the street from us that sells trees only one or two weekends a year. This is because the farm is, as I said a second ago, small. Once they sell out, they sell out. So, we got lucky this year as there were plenty left. Last year, we were not so lucky. We waited too long and when we went down to pick out our tree, the cupboard was empty. Woe was us. My wife did what modern millennial wives do. She went on Facebook, searched around her community and mom pages and found a place in the town next to ours that had plenty of trees left. You picked your own, cut it down yourself and tied it to the car yourself. For these reasons, the price was more than reasonable. So, we piled into the car and headed out to get our tree. We were not prepared.

The place was about 25 minutes from our house, way out in the hinterlands of our neck of the woods of Connecticut. When we arrived, we noticed that we were the only car and the farm seemed to be hidden behind a rather enormous hill. It was a cold day, but we were bundled up and the kids were thrilled with the prospect of getting our tree. Nice and sunny, blustery and crisp. We headed up towards the farmhouse and around the back where there was one of those machines that definitely has a name that I just don’t know. Ya know the ones I am talking about; the machine that wraps your tree in plastic twine. Anyway, there was one of those machines, a rack of hand saws and a guy sort of hanging around. He was the owner of the farm and explained the situation to me.

Farmer: “Hey, guys. Listen, there’s not many trees left. In fact, we weren’t sure we were going to be open today and we’ll probably shut down in a couple hours. But whatever you find out there is yours.”
Me: “….Ok…. Is it worth it or is there nothing left?”
Farmer: “No there are trees out there. Just not many and not very full. You are welcome to take a look.”
Me: “So, it’s worth it then? I just don’t want to take the kids up over this big hill in the cold if there’s nothing left, you know?”
Farmer: “Yeah, I get it.”
Me: ……
Farmer: ……
Me: “Alright, dude. Just give me the saw.”

And from there we headed up the hill. It was a substantial little climb for my wife and myself so you can imagine what it was like for a 2- and 3-year-old. They were troopers though. I have to hand it to them. Out of the entire time we were out in the field, which was probably about 40 minutes, they gave us a good 3-3.5 minutes of decent behavior before they lost it. After we crested the hill, we were finally face to face with the fact that this may have been a bad idea. I am guessing there were about 15 acres of rolling, hilly fields in front of us. Trees? In theory, yes. We almost headed back to the car at that point, but we were already there, and we’d be damned if we’d let our better judgement win the day. We pressed forward.

To say that there was a definite shortage of trees would be an understatement. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure these people had even planted any trees by the spotty nature of where they were growing. All of them looked pretty ratty. None of them were full and healthy. They looked like they had rough lives. Divorced, unemployed and fighting addiction. These trees hadn’t spoken to their kids in ages. If you listened closely, you could hear them gently sobbing. I think I heard one of them cough. Anyway, we went on looking for the family Christmas tree. For some reason, it seemed to get colder and then as if like clockwork, the whining started. They were cold. They wanted juice. They were hungry. They were tired. They were bored. I was with them in spirit, but I couldn’t show it. Since my wife had picked the place out, I could see that she was starting to feel guilty. It wasn’t her fault, but she was starting to get annoyed. She also doesn’t do well in the cold. The woman sleeps under a fleece blanket and comforter in the Summertime. I kicked it into high gear and left the family in the dust as they were slowing me down. I needed to find a tree, any tree.

There were now other groups of people out there with us. Each with the same look of bewilderment and frustration on their faces. Had we been duped? Were there ever trees there? Were the farmers essentially “harvesting” us with a false advertisement for cheap fir trees? All possibilities were on the table at this point. I should also mention that the terrain was a real pain in the keister. These were not well-kept fields made for folks to go traipsing through. These were quintessential New England fields in the late Fall, early Winter. Overgrown, dead, brambly and thorny. They were difficult for my wife and I to trudge through as adults so you can imagine what it was like for the kids. That is when we realized that they were falling every four or five feet. You’d hear a yowl and look back and there’d be a man down. I raced up a little hill where I saw a cluster of trees that seemed half-way decent. I raced as I knew it was a matter of time before the other groups of suckers spotted them and then it’d be game on. Game on with a group of angry, cold yankees each armed with a hand saw. I got to the top of the little hill and looked back down into the fields. What I saw was absolutely astounding. Sporadic groups of people slowly making their way through the fields, stumbling, swearing and yelling. That’s when I spotted my family.

Have you ever seen Gettysburg? Or The Patriot? If you haven’t, I suggest you do as they are both highly entertaining flicks. During the battle scenes, scores of uniformed men walk in tight lines determinately towards each other. Here and there, men will scream and drop as they get hit by either musket or cannon fire. Very historically accurate to 18th and 19th century infantry warfare tactics. That is what my little family looked like. There they were. The three of them, close together moving in the same direction. Every once in a while, either my son or my daughter would let out a loud “AHHH!” and they’d go down. My wife, in the middle, would stop and lift them up. Much like a soldier picking up a flag after the standard bearer had been brough down by enemy fire. They would move on together another few feet and then there’d be a scream or an “OHHH!” and another would go down. My wife, the non-com of this squad all the while urging them forward. “C’mon! Let’s go!” “Get up! Keep moving!” This was going on in the middle of a field with other small groups of people doing similar. To this day, it was the most hilarious thing I had ever seen. Horrible, but hilarious.

I cut down the least diseased-looking tree I could find and began to head back down the hill. I went down the opposite side of where I had come up after seeing that my family was making their way to the right around the hill heading back towards the main path that led back to the farmhouse. As soon as they came into view, I saw my daughter walking while crying loudly and my wife hurriedly moving to catch up with her with my son under her right arm like a baby pig. He was crying too. My wife was probably crying on the inside. I noticed that he was only wearing one shoe. I yelled down to her about the shoe situation and she responded with, “I DON’T CARE! WE’LL BUY HIM NEW SHOES ON THE WAY HOME!” Now, this woman scowls at me if I buy a bagel for breakfast during the week. She is not a cheapskate by any means, but she is conscientious of the family finances and doesn’t go in for wasteful spending. So, when she suggested that we buy him new shoes rather than spend another minute on that farm, I knew she had gotten to the end of her rope. I got down the hill quickly and traced their steps back and found his shoe. We reunited and headed back towards the farmhouse together.

Farmer: “There they are! Hey, you guys got a good one!”
Me: “Yeah it sure is something else.”
Farmer to my daughter who was sniffling and crying a little: “What’s wrong there?”
My wife: “Her hand is bleeding from falling down so much.”
Farmer: “Oh.”

By this point, we were freezing cold and tired. The kids had stopped crying because I promised them happy meals. Our mission was over. It was accomplished. The tree itself, was nothing to look at. It wasn’t all that full and definitely had some sorry branches there and there. It was lopsided as well. We got it home, strung it with lights and decorated it. It ended up being the healthiest Christmas tree we’d had in years. Lost no needles, stayed nice and green and we ended up loving it. Once I had tied it onto the roof of the car, we began our journey back home. It took a while to warm up enough to get to the point where we could actually speak about the ordeal without our teeth chattering. After a few minutes of commiserating over the conditions and situation. We were relieved to have gotten it out of our systems. Smiles were creeping back. The kids were giggling, and all was right with the world. That is when I took a hard right turn to get back on the main drag that would bring us home, only to have the tree fall off the car.

Taking a Close Look at My Town

June 4, 2019 J.M.comedy, Connecticut, New EnglandLeave a comment

I have neglected this blog for far too long. In fact, almost an entire calendar year. I had a lot on my mind. I was busy and I simply didn’t have time. So what has been taking up all my time you may be asking? Infectious disease. And let me tell you it is not pleasant. It is basically everything you think it is when you hear the words, “infectious disease.” I can’t even tell you how difficult it is to hang out with old friends when all they want to do is talk about their careers and their kids and all you want to talk about is infectious disease factoids and assorted infectious disease anecdotes. A living hell? You bet and quite frankly I’ve been having a rough time of it. When I decided to become an infectious disease buff I knew I would be trodding a dark path, however I thought it important to spread the word far and wide about “I.D.” as we infectious disease buffs call it. It is a labor of love so I am not throwing in the towel yet but in all honesty I am not sure how “in it” my heart is any longer. And call me lazy or self-conscious but I don’t know how many more times I can explain the same thing to the FBI without sounding kinda silly at this point.

Anywho; my wife and I were out driving around the other day. We decided to really examine the town we had moved to about a year and a half ago. Not going to tell you which town but think New England, bucolic, quaint, historic, sterile, puritanical, and stately. It is rather pretty in the Autumn and when it snows the Christmas lights on the ancient town green are truly something to behold. The Springs are mild. A little too mild, really and the Summers will melt your underwear to your thighs if you are exposed to the outdoors for more than a minute and a half. There are cute little festivals and fairs throughout the year. There are white Churches dating from the early 18th century. There are local stories about George Washington visiting an inn which is now a residence and encampments of soldiers on their way to fight the British Regulars. There are antique houses and antique shops and antique cars and antique people.

Sounds pretty cool, right?

Verdict: Sorta cool. it has its moments and overall it is tolerable.

You see, I grew up in a city. Albeit a relatively small city but a city nonetheless. In fact, I believe it is the fifth largest city in New England and the biggest city in Connecticut. So as you can imagine, it has been a bit of a culture shock and there has been a truly discernable adjustment period. Now some of you may read Yankee Magazine. Or have a serious interest in New England. Or saw Baby Boom once and thought to yourselves, “that looks so quaint.” Whatever it may be, let me peel back some of the pretty layers and give you some of the truth when it comes to what it is like to live in one of these towns. I do not hate my town in the least. These are just honest observations and I am sure I find some of them as bracing as I do because I am only just getting used to them.

Peace and Quiet. I mean, yes and no. When you live in a neighborhood where everyone has a decent sized lawn, you can be assured of one thing; the sound of lawn equipment from sun up to sun down from late April to mid October. And these folks live in these towns because they have some cash but are not flush enough to move down closer to the coast and spend big bucks on house prices and property taxes. Which are pretty damn high in our town. But that is another story. So because they have some money, they tend to spend it on things like; industrial tractors and lawn-equipment only really utilized on golf courses and cemeteries. So there is no such thing as the innocuous sound of a distant riding mower. Instead, you get the sound and decibel levels of a C-130 revving its turbo-props at full tilt. On a number of occasions we have had to cut our discussions on “I.D.” painfully short and retreat into the house. So those are days during the pleasant weather months. Night time is different as it really is sort of creepily quiet. While unnerving it offers excellent opportunities for restful, sound sleep and long, intricate discussions on I.D.
Friendliness. Well… us Yankees (and even though the rebs down south refer to anyone living above Maryland as a Yankee, a Yankee is a native of CT) aren’t exactly the nicest group. We just don’t really like anyone. That being said, the majority of us fall into two camps of extreme opposites. There are the, “I won’t thank you for holding the door open for me for all of the money in the world” jerks and then there are the, “thank you so much for holding the door open for me! Would you like a kidney? Or an even better idea, you look stressed so call me an ugly parasite and punch my jaw loose. Seriously, I don’t mind! Anything for you, big boy” crowd. There’s really no middle ground, “thank you” people. Which is fine. Our neighbors are super-friendly and as much as I am a total curmudgeon I can’t make fun of that. It was bracing at first however because I am not used to that and I really don’t know how to act around friendly strangers other than by smiling politely while frantically searching for an escape route. Still, this one is hard to explain to someone who is not from here because this issue is not native to my town. It is an issue that is sort of an epidemic which stretches from New Jersey to Maine. Much like an I.D.!
Hicks. I have no problem with the fine men and women who utilize their back muscles and hands and get an honest day’s work done by the time I am having my lunch. If you are a farmer, tree-cutter, landscaper, etc. I salute you for doing a job that I would never do unless I was forced at gunpoint to do it. Not because I am incapable, but because I am a down-state, NYC Metropolitan area city boy who is rather dainty. I will never poop on the work that these people do. However, I will poop on the aesthetic that a lot of these folks, especially the men adopt. Your country-boy, Jeff Foxworthy worshipping, bearded, pickup truck driving, Travis Tritt listening, Confederate flag waving asses aren’t fooling anyone. You’re from CT, not NC. You know the type. The type of guys who still wear their cellphones in outside-the-belt cases and think that being a volunteer fireman is akin to being a Syrian White Helmet. The kinda guys who share memes that say things like, “you must be a special kind of stupid”. The majestic, North Eastern Hick. Their habitat is wide and varied but you can usually see them congregating around places that sell cheap hamburgers and Home Depot. They always smell like a wood fire and the married ones have those stupid black titanium wedding bands. Because nothing tells the world that you love your wife and your marriage like wearing a ring that looks as though it was made in someone’s spare time at the bottom of a coal mine. In the end, these dudes are harmless. Unless you consider spitting chaw into an empty Sprite bottle harmful. Which, it sorta is. Much like I.D.
Culture. Yeah, if you want culture, as in arts and music, you are going to have to head afield. We have a library. So that’s something. I think some of the restaurant bars have karaoke once a week. There is a Summer concert series on the town green but let’s face it; unless it’s either a Tony Bennett impersonator or a Foghat cover band, no one in this town is flocking to the green. Here is the thing; the town also has its fair share of yuppies. You would think that youth and money would denote an underlying current of artistic and creative curiosity. This just ain’t so where I live. In fact, it seems to be a magnet for that one segment of yuppies who aren’t interested in those sorts of things. Which is disheartening but in the end it isn’t that big a deal. It would just be nice for someone like me, (a pretentious, pompous blow-hard) to be able to talk about things going on in town with no real intention of ever even bothering to check them out on my own. Much like I.D.
Flora and Fauna. I don’t like the woods. They are creepy and that is why creepy animals live there. Things that will eat you or chase you or chase you and then eat you. We have bears, coyotes, bobcats, fisher cats, possums, raccoons, foxes and according to the police we also have mountain lions but I think that might be BS. Either way, I don’t want to find out. Our first week here we received a packet from the police department outlining all the creatures we may encounter. This is not optimal for a guy like me who is cool with cats, tolerates dogs and looks at people with pet birds and snakes like the absolute freaks that they are. So I keep a high powered rifle near the sliding doors that lead out to my back deck. I think it is illegal to discharge a weapon within the town but if it comes down to it I do not mind paying the fine if it means that I won’t be torn asunder by a rabid bear. Do bears get rabies? Another I.D. discussion to be had, methinks.

So that’s that. The town has great schools and is relatively safe so it is serving its purpose I suppose. The wife and I have already decided that once the kids are grown and out on their own we are putting the house on the market and high-tailing it back to the water where I grew up and she feels the most at home. It works for now. If you want to come check it out, don’t. We don’t want no outsiders coming around and making trouble. But if you would like to meet up and check out my newsletter on I.D. I think we can make that work.