My ten-tear-old nephew Asher and his mother arrived unexpectedly (to me) last night from California to stay for the holidays. Every ten-year-old deserves a Christmas tree so we set off this afternoon to buy one. In a shocking testimony to the decline of entrepreneurial enterprise in this country, the vendors: Jerombeck Brothers, Oil City, First Congo, had all packed up their trees and quit for the season. Stumped, so to speak (and if you think you can make me feel guilty for a bad pun, you’re barking up the wrong tree – don’t needle me!) , I remembered brother Gideon mentioning that some people were already recycling their trees at Tod’s Point, presumably because, after enjoying Christmas decorations before the holiday, they could jet off to Aspen with the other 1%ers and enjoy the festival there.
So I said, “let’s try Tod’s” and by golly, there was exactly one tree awaiting us, (thank you, God) perfectly sized – 6.5 feet – , still fresh and priced just right. Onto the roof it went, tied down with a rope that I last used to drag a dead Bambi (not a reindeer, I hasten to add) from the snowy woods of New York, and off we drove to Grandmother’s house, laughing all the way.
Cost of tree, nada. Value of getting a free tree and solving a problem, priceless.