Some of the most beautiful Christmas trees I ever saw were the ones my mom decorated when I was a child. Each year’s tree was unique but exquisite, a true work of art and love. One year she displayed only angels, perched on fir branches, some chipped and faded porcelain, others carefully cut to resemble the Danish ornaments she had seen in an old book. Another time she and my dad tromped through the woods to dig up and bring back a brownish green cedar and she spent hours stringing popcorn and cranberries for a “real New England” tree. A beautifully decorated Christmas tree was a tradition in my home when I was growing up.

So, as my Christmas tree heritage would dictate, I anticipated my first Christmas tree in my own home to be a lovely creation, a masterpiece in its own right. Clay and I were living in Germany at the time and, to add to the excitement, my mom and dad were flying in for the holidays. Since we had no car in those days and rode the local bus or S-Bahn to shop, we couldn’t cut our own tree so we opted for the small tree vendor across from the commissary. With Mollie in her backpack, wide-eyed and excited, we circled the lot several times and finally decided on a perfect pine tree, no doubt shaped by the hands and machete of a lederhosen-wearing German elf. We boarded the bus, tree in hand, much to the consternation of the driver, and returned to our apartment.

I had carefully planned for this event for several months, buying a few small East German ornaments each pay day, sewing Christmas stockings for the three of us, and filling the house with the scents of favorite cookies. December came and with it snow covered the picturesque village where we lived. Tiny white lights appeared on every tree, bush, house, and shop and the post chapel became a wonderland of hand-carved wooden stars. As our little family decorated the house and the perfect tree, I looked around and there we were, a living Christmas card!

A couple days went by and it was Christmas Eve. Knowing my parents would arrive that night, I was up early to begin the last minute wrapping. It had been snowing all night and Mollie drug her snowsuit around behind her as she toddled from window to window pointing her little finger and exclaiming, “no, mommy, no.” And then, as I entered the living room, what to my wondering eyes did appear, but my perfect tree, still decorated in its dazzling splendor but with nearly all of the needles lying on the floor! I quickly called to Clay who really did not know what to say other than “I am so sorry” and “it doesn’t look that bad, honey.” But that was a lie. It was a naked Christmas tree and he knew it. Then when I started to cry, in a moment of tender compassion, and with the realization that the success of my entire Christmas, and perhaps all future Christmases, was held in the palm of his hand, he said “well, I think we should go and get another tree.”

So, again, we boarded the bus, this time with the tree, the few remaining needles clinging for dear life to the dry branches and remnant tinsel. We greeted the same driver, who now seemed part of our family Christmas tradition. The other passengers were either amused or irritated and I found myself wavering between both emotions. I followed behind as Clay approached the tree salesman, Clay speaking no German, the elf man speaking no English. No words were necessary; we had come for a replacement tree. Eventually, they reached an agreement, a few dollars in exchange for another tree. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and whether this was a sound Christmas Eve business decision, my husband’s towering form in military garb, or the benevolent act of a stranger toward foreigners, we will never know.

Since that Christmas, I have walked many miles searching for the perfect Christmas tree. I have hung hundreds of ornaments on dozens of trees and have probably scotch-taped several miles of wrapping paper. I have baked thousands of cookies and this week I will hang 20 handmade stockings along the railing on the front stairs. And as we chose our 2007 tree this afternoon, I will think about the first Christmas in our own home as a little family and our two German trees and the beginning of the tradition of the Campbell Christmas tree.