Growing up, our family always had a fresh evergreen Christmas tree. Each year we chose a Douglas Fir, which filled our home with the beloved spicy, forest scent of the season. We covered it with traditional ornaments – the same ones each year, occasionally adding a new treasure to our collection. Of course, it wouldn’t be complete without the 1950’s style tinsel (which my sister and I placed meticulously, strand by strand for the first 10 minutes, then wound up tossing on the tree in clumps, much to my mother’s dismay).
On Christmas night, in the afterglow of discovering Santa’s generosity, we’d take our annual drive down Christmas Tree Lane. I would bring my favorite new toy (my Betsy McCall doll was especially dear) and we’d join the line of cars, making our way down the street with the windows down to catch any Christmas music projected from the decorated homes.
After Christmas Tree Lane, we would then venture to the houses on the block beyond ours: the section of “rich houses where doctors lived.” This is where I would see them: pink Christmas trees. Gigantic picture windows framed the alluring sugarplum spectacles which drew me in and allowed a glimpse into what I imagined must be perfect lives. Of course, we would never dare to have a pink, metallic tree. Metallic trees, we reasoned, were for rich people who didn’t understand the true feeling of Christmas. Those trees weren’t natural and were pronounced as gaudy by the entire family. But in my little girl heart, I secretly thought the pink trees were beautiful. So enticing, so beautiful, so magical that I still dream about them today
Though I’m far away from my childhood, and from my California neighborhood, I’m seeing for the first time that maybe pink evergreens actually are real. All it takes is a stunning Washington sunrise for them to appear. Magically. Just like when I was a child.