Christmas Tree Archaeology
Originally published at KarenVernon.net on December 6, 2020
Every year, one of my favorite parts of the Christmas season is pulling out the bins of all our decorations and discovering anew the memories they contain. It’s always most fun when we do this as a family, but this year I was left to my own devices, so I savored the trip down memory lane.
I found myself wondering what an archaeologist unearthing our little domestic compound in the distant future might make of the eclectic and – in some cases – downright disturbing collection of ornaments we treasure, pack away carefully and display year after year. Of course, a clue’s to be found if they also happened to discover the little wooden sign on display near the tree that says, “If you met my family you would understand.”
But really, how to explain things like the blown glass unicorn in lederhosen? Or the head of Charles Darwin (you think it’s Santa, but it’s not!)? Worse still, the “ugly baby for sale” nestled in the branches and giving off a truly creepy vibe?
By way of (attempted) explanation, the first two are part of our collection of absurd ornaments that we began exchanging early in our “blended family” days – togetherness and hilarity brought to you by the Archie McPhee catalog. Ugly Baby is in a class by itself, and was one of the first hints I had of the kind of household I was marrying into; the children had adapted it from a gift given to them by grandparents, recognizing its potential to disturb. So of course, now it’s on the tree. I mean, what else would we do with it? (Don’t answer that.)
There’s plenty of pure whimsy, too, from the “Mistletoad” to Yoda and other Star Wars and Star Trek characters. There are nostalgic ornaments passed down through generations, like the parachuting snowman or the Santa pilot. There are ornaments gifted to the children based on hobbies at the time – from cooking, to music, to favorite animals. Sometimes irony comes more in the placement of things – the elegant peacock feather butterfly perches just beside the ornament that commemorates the Hi-Way Drive-In, aka the Dip-Dog Stand, a veritable institution, decidedly inelegant, in my hometown.
Other ornaments give insight to things I’ve only recently recognized about myself. For instance, I thought my fascination with birds was relatively new, and related to my treehouse “perch.” But apparently I’ve been collecting bird-related ornaments for years, now adorning the tree’s branches with everything from realistic-looking cardinals to flamingos in Santa hats.
One bird tells a different story and is a reminder to me of the hazards of re-gifting: It was a simple painted wooden ornament I gave my Secret Santa recipient long ago in college, only to have her unwittingly re-gift it to me the next week. I still remember how mortified she was when she connected the dots at our final gift exchange. A cautionary tale for the ages, renewed in memory once a year.
Still others bring more traditional and fond reminders of the friends who’ve gifted them to me over the years – the tiny clay polar bear; the handmade dragonfly from a friend who took the time to remember my love for that image. The sweet bonds of friendship these memories conjure have inspired me also to do more gifting of ornaments in recent years, hoping they prompt similar memories for others decorating their own trees now and in the future.
More sobering are ornaments from hospice or other mementos, marking the years that loved ones left us. One of the newest and most precious to me is a blue and white star brought from a friend’s trip to Holland, commemorating another friend who died last year; this shade of blue is an instant reminder of her.
Of course like most families, we’ve got plenty of hand-made ornaments from different eras of the children’s growing-up years. Clothespin reindeer and ballerinas, glass orbs with holly thumbprints, felt candy canes with photos attached. We also have tributes to some of our epic family Halloween costumes, from popcorn boxes to playing cards. We don’t use all of these every year, but a few always make their way into the display.
Turns out, our crazy-quilt of a tree does tell a story, and would offer future explorers pretty good insight into the family that cherishes it. Here in this house, there was laughter, and a more than healthy appreciation of irony and the absurd. There were friendships we treasured. There were lessons learned. There was creativity. There were poignant memories which, though sometimes painful, were softened and burnished by the passing of time.
And every Christmas, we have a chance to put this on display, and to honor and celebrate all these gifts of the spirit collected across the generations. It’s a treasure to unearth, year after year.