The Last Sapin de Noël
Image by FlorePetit
I have a thing about Christmas trees. I have never in my whole life had one that was not alive, or at least had been alive at some point.
And some of them, barely that. I’ve always had a soft spot for strays, and I guess Christmas trees are no exception. Most of the trees I’ve had can be described as the Charlie Brown variety, found forgotten at the back of the Christmas tree lot, awaiting rescue, a beauty makeover, and a glow-up.
I’m an outlier these days, since most folks have fake trees. Hey, I’m not judging. They are easy, you don’t have to spend a whole morning vacuuming up the needles, plus no tree gave its life for you. Still. There’s something about the lovely smell of evergreen, that lingers in the house, even as I write this.
There are a few Christmas trees in our past that are memorable. There was one year, before we moved to France, when we rented a gîte for Christmas week in a rural French village. It was freezing, and the main thing we remember about the country house was that it had a wood-burning stove that we didn’t know how to operate. Being city folks and all. It was a cold Christmas, both indoors and out, but we coped. For our sapin de Noel, I went out and dug up a little cedar, stuffed its roots into a jar, and put on the dining room table. We decorated it with berries and a bit of ribbon, and replanted it at New Years. It was the first of many a happy French Christmas.
Then there was the year a friend decided she was just too depressed to even put up a tree. So of course we delivered one, lit and decorated, to her door. It was nice to see her face light up like, well, a Christmas tree.
But I think my very favorite Christmas tree story happened the first year we moved to our tiny village of of La Vineuse. We had some Jewish friends visiting us from the States over Christmas. I said to Ron–we’re in the la campagne now , where you go out and cut your Christmas tree! But he was hesitant to venture on to some farmer’s property wielding an ax. Then a solution presented itself: we were out for a village stroll with our friends when we passed the village volunteer fire station. Where there was a tall and extremely straggly tree lying forlornly by the door. Turns out our fire fighters had already had their Christmas party and they were throwing it out. So Ron and our Jewish friend marched through the village, carrying this sad, skinny tree on their shoulders. With great ceremony we erected it and decorated it, in the spirit of whatever religion you choose.
Our Christmas tree this year, maybe the last one
We decided that this is our last year for a big tree. I’m grieving a bit. Next year, back to the tabletop variety. But it will be a real one, in a pot, ready to be planted for renewal and regrowth in the New Year, just like you and me. Alors, Bonne Année à tous!
Artwork at Etsy
Favorite READS and VIEWS: If you like Cara Black’s latest book, Hugette, you will be a happy reader, because she’s written a slew of them. Most are thrillers featuring a Paris detective (une femme!). Hugette is set in WWII. Cara Black is one of our Resident Reader Natalia’s favorite authors. I’ve just read the sample, and as she says, it grabs you right away (and Natalia, we are absolutely with you on the convenience of the boulangerie and the patisserie!).
And if you are a mystery lover and a fan of Elizabeth George, an American who writes lengthy thrillers set in the UK, then check out the new TV series, Lynley, based on her books. It’s streaming on the BBC. I didn’t much like a previous attempt to film her books, but this one is well done.
