A rite of passage for any St Louisan is a trip to Ted Drew’s in November for a Christmas tree. The tree lot is straight out of Charlie Brown. It is on the parking lot of a famous St Louis frozen custard Elysium that all us St Lou-natics adore. The frozen custard is the best on this planet (there is no discussion to be had here- it is simple fact). The frozen custard is a year-round staple of the 314 but the tree lot is a winter treat. In this writer’s opinion, peppermint bark concretes are the crème anglaise congelée of the gods (although at TDs, it flies under the “Cindermint” slogan). There is always a roaring fire pit and the scent of Douglas fir and fresh pine are enough to knock you over. I find myself pausing in sensory nostalgia at this very moment.
Walking the lot you note that some of the trees are designated a “Dottie.” Named after the second generation owner’s wife, these are considered the choicest trees on the lot. I never carried the bread to buy one of these beauties until I decided to splurge in 2019. I bought my first Dottie. A towering scotch pine specimen, it could have played a supporting role in photo from a Bing Crosby album cover. With a puffed chest I felt pride emanating from my sap-covered hands as I hoisted her atop the Explorer and tied her down to return to what would shortly become an urban winter wonderland. When you drive through the Lou and have a Dottie on the luggage rack, you hold your head high.
The kids will remember such experiences with great fondness someday (I tell myself), but at that moment they are too busy processing the 20 ounces of sweetened frozen milkfat they just consumed to take in the significance of the moment. This is a pretty big part of why I wanted to become a dad. I love the establishment and continuance of family traditions. While I get the humor that is Clark Griswold I also identify with his blind interest in family. Note: looking back at the Griswold collection there are a LOT of problems there that as a youth I did not consider so. Christy Brinkley is great and all, and like all 1980’s boys I had that crush, but the ease of succumbing to infidelity temptation in the face of a stunning and committed Beverly D’ Angelo kinda sucks.
Sorry, I’ll stop screwing around here. I brought home my first Dottie. I played the dad hero (even if no one actually called me that). With a full heart, sap-covered hands, and a feeling of Christmas cheer I carried the tree into the house. I placed the Dottie in the stand and locked it down to decorate. After orbiting it with a thousand lights, tinsel, and every ornament we could find, we stood back and looked at the majesty of it. I turned off the lights that first night and as I did I admired this symbol, adorned as had been the case dating back to the days of Pagan religious dominance, and I considered my work well done.
The next morning I rose with a deep breath and wandered downstairs to begin the day. I filled a pitcher of water and meandered to the tree to give it a drink. As I knelt to fill the basin I brushed the branches needles they fell like snow. “Wait. That doesn’t feel right. Those feel dry. This tree was fine last night.” After further examination I surmised that the tree might be dead. But it didn’t make sense as I had sawn the base before I put it in the stand and I had placed food in the water before we decorated. So I came to the conclusion that if I watered it enough somehow it would spring back to life and everything would be fine.
By the end of week one the thing was clearly dead and then some. Well…it was to any sane person. However, I had determined through cognitive dissonance that this thing would be fine somehow. And as an added bonus I didn’t have to add any more water! The water level wasn’t changing anymore. At this point we were tacitly accepting the tree’s state as we ensured no ignition sources were in the area. But we still treated it as if it were alive and healthy. By God I was NOT undoing this one and decorating another one!
It is worth noting this particular Christmas month was a weird one to begin with. There was nothing normal about late 2019. But dammit I was not budging on this ONE THING. I was going to have something normal! It should come as no surprise that the presence of this tree did not make anything suddenly become normal. And then when January came I had to admit it…this tree had been dead for over a month. This magnificent Dottie that had felt lush and soft on the tree lot was in the final stages of hospice on the roof of my car. I was driving a bleeder when I did that south city slow cruise to show off my Dottie. And just to make sure I didn’t have any misconceptions, that damned tree, who had been the soothsayer of the surreal Christmas yet to come, dropped every damned pine needle it had. The path to the back door looked like the forest floor. I filled an entire kitchen trash bag with needles. For mise en scene, it was the size of three or four large sleeping bags.
So where the hell am I going with this? I can tell you that this tree was a fluke. The Dottie retains its reputation as one of the best tree grades available in the Lou. Everyone I have spoken to who has purchased a Dottie cannot say enough good things. But mine died at the same speed a peeled avocado browns. And moreover, nothing was going to stop it. I had done everything right. I had bought the right tree of the right pedigree from the right place and I had taken all right steps only to watch it flatline in record time. I had tried to will it back to life with everything I had but to no avail.
My point is this; you can do everything right things still go wrong. You can take all the right steps and give yourself the best odds only for fate to help remind you of your place in the grand scheme. Nature and the macrocosm have a way of righting the ship when any one of us begins to think we really know what the hell is going on or that we have complete control.
But you know what? When I look back on that Christmas I remember the kids and I on the couch making fun of our Santa hats. I remember introducing Aiden to “Men At Work.” I remember wrapping the gigantic front bush (also known as the “70’s Bush”) in net lighting for the first time. It was really beautiful. I now go to tree farms to get the trees fresh. And I am always looking for more opportunities to make memories. Dottie serves as a reminder that in what was a shit year, I didn’t give up. Love can persevere any trial we encounter.
Today I can smell the Fraser fir in my sunroom filling the house with that delightful scent. My life has endured many changes and that Christmas marked the crux of many such changes. 2022 was a year of many changes also. 2023 is promising to be a great one if the last few months have been any indication.
Dottie, thanks for giving me the placeholder I needed for that year. You were perfectly imperfect and you set the bar low enough that every Christmas will be better than that one. I hate taking the W when it is made that easy but I’m definitely not above it.
Beta Testing Adulthood 