|
This time of year throughout the world families begin an annual event — Christmas traditions. Some families go caroling through their neighborhoods, singing the songs of the season. Some bake cookies by the dozens to share with family and friends. Some throw 10 million lights on their house so the astronauts in the space shuttle have something to look at while they circle the earth. But whatever it is that the family does; the important thing is that they do it as a family.
 Photo by Cliff Buchan
For many years, it has been a tradition at Mansmith’s Christmas Tree Farm in Forest Lake to take pictures of families when they select a tree at the farm. When those folks return a year later, the photo is waiting for them as a special gift. That tradition is ending, however, as the Mansmiths are closing their tree farm after 41 years of being in business. On their last day of business on Monday, Russell and Gloria Mansmith posed with one of the few remaining trees that were for sale.
Walter Kjellberg
Guest Columnist
This time of year throughout the world families begin an annual event — Christmas traditions. Some families go caroling through their neighborhoods, singing the songs of the season. Some bake cookies by the dozens to share with family and friends. Some throw 10 million lights on their house so the astronauts in the space shuttle have something to look at while they circle the earth. But whatever it is that the family does; the important thing is that they do it as a family.
In our family for the last 10 years or so, we have made the trip each December to the Mansmith’s tree farm to select our family Christmas tree. It is not a long trip as we are only 20 minutes away; 30 if my wife is driving, to the farm located just west of the freeway in Forest Lake. We stumbled on it years ago from an ad in our local paper.
Our first trip there was eventful as the kids were excited about being able, for the first time really, to help us pick out our tree.
We were met almost immediately by Mr. Mansmith; a barber by trade and a kind, warm, human soul by choice.
We were there two minutes and we were family. Through the barn filled with trees and outside through the trees and then back into the barn we chased two young boys looking for a huge tree that would necessitate an extraordinary amount of presents to properly fill the bottom.
Then into the gift shop with its strange wall of pictures of families standing next to trees and the coffee pots with the little sign which read “Hot Cider.”
Our son Danny would spend 20 minutes or so every December for the next 10 years in front of that sign, drinking the golden elixir as if it were a magic potion. Sometimes I think it was.
My wife wandered around the gift shop looking at the crafts and ornaments while I and our oldest son Luke returned to the task at hand — finding our Christmas tree.
In a short time, when she knew that we had rustled up a few good prospects, Denise would wander out and help us make the right choice. Hers.
We would hem and haw and then come to the realization that she was right and off we went to find some help in making our purchase.
Once our tree was selected it was carried to the shaker and the loose needles and twigs and dead grass were ripped from the tree and sent to the pile building up under the shaker from all the trees that had been there first.
Then our host said a strange thing to us “OK, let’s get a picture of your family with your tree.”
Now if I had my business hat on at the time I would of thought: “What a brilliant strategy” Come back next year and pick up your family picture. It’s perfect. But that is not what I thought or heard.
What I thought was what I felt; there was no other place we would be going to get our Christmas tree next year but here.
Once we tore Dan loose of the cider, we took our tree over to the designated picture spot, had our picture taken, thanked our host for a wonderful experience and headed off. We tied our tree to the roof of our mini-van and drove for home; visions of Sugar Plums and all.
Over the next 10 years we would return each year, the boys would head for the pictures - and the cider - while we would be greeted and chat with Mr. Mansmith.
It was the strangest thing in the world to me that no matter how many families were there it was like we were the only ones in the place and he was there to meet only us.
Old Saint Nick had nothing on this guy. We were there on cold days and unseasonably warm days; during the night or during the day; and it didn’t matter as it always felt like Christmas.
It wasn’t the trees, or the weather, or even our state-of-mind, it was that place. You can pretend warmth. Target, Macy’s and Wal-Mart and all the malls do it every year.
But a heart knows warmth when it feels it and we felt it in that little barn filled with the smell of Christmas. Every year, every time.
The ultimate test of that came when our boys turned into that ugly, inevitable thing called teenager.
I told them we were going to get our Christmas tree, and being sensitive to their teen need to be asked their permission to leave the house during daylight hours with their parents, told them that they were welcome to join us.
Their faces twisted into that weird, grotesque face that teenagers can make that says; “what is wrong with you, you stupid, stupid adults”; of course we are going with you; we are going to Mansmith’s to get our tree. That is what tradition does; that is what tradition means.
This year we took our last trip to Mansmith’s Tree Farm. Not because we wanted it to be our last trip, but because Washington County decided it for us. There is no room for agriculture in this hot bed of manufacturing. You can’t expect the industrial giants who overflow the massive industrial park to stand next to a tree farm. So the four of us; including our oldest Luke who no longer lives in the house that will be blessed by that tree, piled into the F150 and headed for the tree farm.
We had invited Luke for supper before the adventure and he called and said he would be late. This, of course, threw his brother into a rage because he hadn’t eaten in a half-an-hour and was famished beyond human understanding.
The nit-picking began immediately as Luke walked in the door, even though we had starting eating without him. Brothers have an innate way of getting on each others nerves, without even trying, while parents shake their heads and plead for civility.
We all got into the act and snide remarks and shots fired across the bows of our assembled decks continued until we reached our destination.
Then it all stopped.
Mr. Mansmith was there to greet us as always. No bitterness, no veiled distress, just pure gladness that we had returned to his tree farm again; ready to select our tree.
I headed for the trees, single-minded in my quest as always. Luke and Denise joined me after a quick stop in the gift shop and we rather quickly found our tree.
Danny remained by the cider, knowing it was his last time. He had gathered our picture for the archives and waited while the young man who worked there and I loaded our tree into the truck.
When I returned to the barn I handed Denise the price tag and we walked into the gift shop.
As she reached into her purse I watched the tears start. There was no stopping them. Our family had grown up in those pictures of Christmas trees.
That kind man had given us an opportunity to be a family one time every year with one purpose; to buy a tree, go home and put it in our living room, decorate it as a family and then celebrate the birth of our Lord under it.
She cried for our loss. Mr. Mansmith gave her a hug, and told her he understood, and felt bad for all of the families that he had to say goodbye to.
We will decorate our tree and celebrate beneath it in our home, and say a prayer for our world, because a place of pure love and tradition is gone.
Forever.
The Kjellberg family lives in Forest Lake.
|
