Even more changes since I wrote this post two years ago.  My husband landed a job in November of 2009 after having been unemployed for 16 months.  And Kiddieland, which had been in operation since 1927, closed its doors in October to make way for a Costco which opened in time for the this season's holiday shopping frenzy.  The tree farmer is gone.

My husband lost his job in August, so we agreed to forego presents and unnecessary expenses this past Christmas - the exception being a small gift for our thirteen-year-old son.  But as the holidays approached, my husband had a change of heart and wanted to get a tree – even if there were no presents to put under it.  I disagreed, yet it seemed more important to spend the money than to argue the point. There was enough stress and worry to go around and I didn’t want our son to remember this as the year that dad lost his job and got in a huge fight with mom over a Christmas tree.  

So we compromised and agreed to wait until Christmas Eve to make the purchase hoping for some last minute savings. In the past, we bought our tree shortly after Thanksgiving at an inflated price from a local charity. This time we would have to go elsewhere.

As the sun was setting on the coldest day of the year, my husband, son and I  piled into the car and drove to a nearby big box store. A tired employee in a blue smock directed us to the outdoor gardening center where a couple of sad looking wreaths and some branches lay on a carpet of pine needles scattered over the concrete slab.

“That’s all we have,” he said apologetically. “You might want to try over there,” he said gesturing toward the Kiddieland parking lot on the other side of the six lane highway. 

Kiddieland is an old time amusement park and a rite of passage for many families in the Chicago area. Although the rides are ancient and decrepit-looking, and the place has the aura of that spooky, “Funland” Scoobie Doo episode, nostalgia keeps families returning - many with third generation thrill seekers. During the holidays the owners rent their parking lot to a popular Christmas tree enterprise.

It’s usually jammed with mini-vans, trucks and automobiles of various shapes, vintages and styles, all packed with eager families ready to find the perfect tree. But this night, as we pulled into the lot, I felt a palpable sense of desperation. A feeble strand of lights ran from a telephone pole to an electrical outlet on the corner of a small, white trailer; the hand lettered menu of prices we couldn’t afford leaned against its side.  There were several rows of long, wooden scaffolds upon which rested neatly placed layers of pine trees. A truck cab still hitched to a pallet of unloaded trees was parked nearby, while four red faced men in flannel shirts and down vests stood in the cold, waiting for business.

My husband and son walked up and down the rows of trees while I watched them from inside our warm car.  After a few minutes, they had picked out a beautiful, very tall, expensive looking Balsam. I cringed at the thought of how much this was going to set us back as I watched them confer with one of the men.

A short time later, my husband returned to the car and leaned into the window. “They are practically giving these trees away,” he said. “Everything on the lot is going for a flat price of fifteen dollars.”

While the tree farmer sawed a fresh cut into the trunk, I overheard one of his partners talking to another family that had arrived. It had been their worst season in memory. Even though they had reduced their inventory by half, much of the stock remained unsold. It was going to be a rough year.

My husband paid the tree farmer, and as he and my son helped tie the fragrant Balsam to our car roof, all I could think about were those men who had been standing in zero degree weather on Christmas Eve, waiting for customers who were not going to come.

We pulled out of the lot in silence. After a few minutes, my husband turned to me and said, “I hope you won’t be mad, but I gave the man thirty-five dollars for the tree. He didn’t want to take it but I insisted.”