Scrooges and Grinches Selling Trees
Well, that's not fair. Our neighbors are not Scrooges or Grinches. They are friendly and helpful and happy to talk about what makes the perfect Christmas tree. They cheerfully carry the chosen tree to the car and tie it on the roof, as carefully as if it were their own car and their own tree. Jon and I are less interested in the whole conversation and we get a little more Grinchy every year. If it were up to Jon, we would have stopped selling trees years ago. That is one reason he is looking forward to the upcoming disruption of the road widening next year -- we may not even be able to have a tree lot. Carrie and I have voted to keep selling trees until we can't, so we continue.
Sixteen years ago our brother-in-law decided he was finished with the tree business and he offered it to Blueberry Hill as a community activity. He hasn't touched a tree since, except for helping with clean-up at the end. One of the reasons he gave it up was he was allergic to the trees and it was a misery. He had started selling trees as a way to create a college fund for his boys, and after a while it stopped seeming like it was worth it. You have to lift a lot of trees to earn a few thousand dollars. It's cold in December and he was open seven days a week, and nights.
So Blueberry Hill took on the project, and I basically learned about all the logistical issues and got us organized. Since it was staffed by volunteers who had day jobs, we turned it into a weekends-only operation. When we get closer to Christmas we leave the lights on into the evening with a note posted that says to call us if you want to buy a tree. In all these years, no one has ever stolen a Christmas tree. That would be so bad.
In the early years, we had pots of hot cider and we brought each other lunch and snacks. There was music playing on the boombox and there were more neighbors at the tree lot than in their houses on the weekends. In recent years, enthusiasm has waned a bit. There are still volunteers but it is not a crowd and there are no hot snacks. We still sit around the stove and talk for hours on a nice afternoon, though. The little kids run through the trees, laughing and crashing around for hours.
In the last 15 years we have unloaded a total of 4193 trees and tied them to stakes out by the road for the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Jon strings up the lights and Maria makes wreaths. It all looks very Christmas-y. Our meticulous records show that we have sold 3915 of those trees, which is pretty good. We divide the profits between the farm and Blueberry Hill and we always give 20% of the total to charity.
I have learned that the tree-growing business is so far removed from the people who buy the trees that it seems like the trees come from a foreign country. They come from Sparta, North Carolina, just across the state line about six hours from here. Those growers don't use email, they don't use cell phones, and they have a product that is only desired for a short burst of intense time so they don't worry about getting into the era of instant communication. Nowadays we use a broker who does the ordering for us, but he has no control over the delivery process. That is left to chance, pretty much. The farmers cut the trees, bundle them, organize the orders, probably working into the night, probably even overnight. The truckers come through, get their paperwork, get loaded and roll out.
Meanwhile, up here in Northern Virginia where we are uptight about timing, we cannot understand why they never tell us anything. They never tell us who the driver is or how many different loads will be on the same truck. They say they will be here on Friday, first thing in the morning, and so far they have always arrived on the predicted day. Timing is a bit random. But now I know that they leave Sparta early in the morning and they don't have a GPS and sometimes they end up in Leesburg, other times in Alexandria, and eventually they get here. They are accustomed to delivering to a business that has a few employees. We are weird. We have dozens of volunteers stomping around in the cold, waiting for the truck. If we do this again, now I know that I will tell everyone that the truck should be here by noon and I will send a text when it comes in the driveway. It used to be more predictable but the whole trucking process is getting more hit-or-miss, it seems. This year they insisted that I pay online for delivery before they loaded, so I did, and then the trucker expected to be paid when he got here -- but he wasn't from Freight Emergency, who I had paid. Whatever. I told him to work it out with the grower, I wasn't paying twice. The broker says that no one wants to drive trucks anymore. The driver says that no one wants to grow trees anymore. Sounds like this whole tree thing is winding down and it doesn't really matter what we want.
When we first started selling trees, I was resistant to the idea because it seems so silly to cut down a tree to put it in your house. But I am over that. It's silly to put a pumpkin in front of your house. It's silly to dress up in costumes and knock on doors asking for candy. We all do irrational things, without thinking much about it, because that's what we do in this culture or tribe or region. The nice thing about selling trees is how happy people are about buying them, in general. It's a family activity. People don't fuss about the price (there are plenty of cheaper places to buy your tree, for sure) because they are shopping at our stand for a reason. They like our farm or they like the experience or they like our trees. In any case, they are happy to be shopping here. And in the end, we send a check to Cornerstones and a matching one to a different charity that has caught someone's attention in our neighborhood. My records show that we have sent $25,500 to charity in the last 15 years. That's not nothing.
By now there are only 24 trees left in the lot and I put up a sign this morning saying Self-Service. $50 a tree. If you want help, it's full price and you can call Jon. In recent years, this has worked well. People love loading their own tree. It makes them feel like they hunted it down and killed it themselves and dragged it out of the wilderness or something.
So as Grinchy and Scrooge-y as Jon and I might be, this has been a project that has done some good over time. Not really much good for the planet, I guess, but we have supported growers in the mountains of North Carolina, we have provided a community-building task for people who usually work behind a desk, we have contributed to charities, and we have helped to perpetuate this tradition of putting trees in houses.
One of the things I really like about being Jewish is skipping the whole Christmas thing. Selling trees is my connection to the holiday. They smell good and they bring people joy. It's a fine way to participate in the season, really. That and singing the Hallelujah Chorus at Betsy and Kenyon's annual party. Can't be a Grinch about that.
Sixteen years ago our brother-in-law decided he was finished with the tree business and he offered it to Blueberry Hill as a community activity. He hasn't touched a tree since, except for helping with clean-up at the end. One of the reasons he gave it up was he was allergic to the trees and it was a misery. He had started selling trees as a way to create a college fund for his boys, and after a while it stopped seeming like it was worth it. You have to lift a lot of trees to earn a few thousand dollars. It's cold in December and he was open seven days a week, and nights.
So Blueberry Hill took on the project, and I basically learned about all the logistical issues and got us organized. Since it was staffed by volunteers who had day jobs, we turned it into a weekends-only operation. When we get closer to Christmas we leave the lights on into the evening with a note posted that says to call us if you want to buy a tree. In all these years, no one has ever stolen a Christmas tree. That would be so bad.
In the early years, we had pots of hot cider and we brought each other lunch and snacks. There was music playing on the boombox and there were more neighbors at the tree lot than in their houses on the weekends. In recent years, enthusiasm has waned a bit. There are still volunteers but it is not a crowd and there are no hot snacks. We still sit around the stove and talk for hours on a nice afternoon, though. The little kids run through the trees, laughing and crashing around for hours.
In the last 15 years we have unloaded a total of 4193 trees and tied them to stakes out by the road for the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Jon strings up the lights and Maria makes wreaths. It all looks very Christmas-y. Our meticulous records show that we have sold 3915 of those trees, which is pretty good. We divide the profits between the farm and Blueberry Hill and we always give 20% of the total to charity.
I have learned that the tree-growing business is so far removed from the people who buy the trees that it seems like the trees come from a foreign country. They come from Sparta, North Carolina, just across the state line about six hours from here. Those growers don't use email, they don't use cell phones, and they have a product that is only desired for a short burst of intense time so they don't worry about getting into the era of instant communication. Nowadays we use a broker who does the ordering for us, but he has no control over the delivery process. That is left to chance, pretty much. The farmers cut the trees, bundle them, organize the orders, probably working into the night, probably even overnight. The truckers come through, get their paperwork, get loaded and roll out.
Meanwhile, up here in Northern Virginia where we are uptight about timing, we cannot understand why they never tell us anything. They never tell us who the driver is or how many different loads will be on the same truck. They say they will be here on Friday, first thing in the morning, and so far they have always arrived on the predicted day. Timing is a bit random. But now I know that they leave Sparta early in the morning and they don't have a GPS and sometimes they end up in Leesburg, other times in Alexandria, and eventually they get here. They are accustomed to delivering to a business that has a few employees. We are weird. We have dozens of volunteers stomping around in the cold, waiting for the truck. If we do this again, now I know that I will tell everyone that the truck should be here by noon and I will send a text when it comes in the driveway. It used to be more predictable but the whole trucking process is getting more hit-or-miss, it seems. This year they insisted that I pay online for delivery before they loaded, so I did, and then the trucker expected to be paid when he got here -- but he wasn't from Freight Emergency, who I had paid. Whatever. I told him to work it out with the grower, I wasn't paying twice. The broker says that no one wants to drive trucks anymore. The driver says that no one wants to grow trees anymore. Sounds like this whole tree thing is winding down and it doesn't really matter what we want.
When we first started selling trees, I was resistant to the idea because it seems so silly to cut down a tree to put it in your house. But I am over that. It's silly to put a pumpkin in front of your house. It's silly to dress up in costumes and knock on doors asking for candy. We all do irrational things, without thinking much about it, because that's what we do in this culture or tribe or region. The nice thing about selling trees is how happy people are about buying them, in general. It's a family activity. People don't fuss about the price (there are plenty of cheaper places to buy your tree, for sure) because they are shopping at our stand for a reason. They like our farm or they like the experience or they like our trees. In any case, they are happy to be shopping here. And in the end, we send a check to Cornerstones and a matching one to a different charity that has caught someone's attention in our neighborhood. My records show that we have sent $25,500 to charity in the last 15 years. That's not nothing.
By now there are only 24 trees left in the lot and I put up a sign this morning saying Self-Service. $50 a tree. If you want help, it's full price and you can call Jon. In recent years, this has worked well. People love loading their own tree. It makes them feel like they hunted it down and killed it themselves and dragged it out of the wilderness or something.
So as Grinchy and Scrooge-y as Jon and I might be, this has been a project that has done some good over time. Not really much good for the planet, I guess, but we have supported growers in the mountains of North Carolina, we have provided a community-building task for people who usually work behind a desk, we have contributed to charities, and we have helped to perpetuate this tradition of putting trees in houses.
One of the things I really like about being Jewish is skipping the whole Christmas thing. Selling trees is my connection to the holiday. They smell good and they bring people joy. It's a fine way to participate in the season, really. That and singing the Hallelujah Chorus at Betsy and Kenyon's annual party. Can't be a Grinch about that.
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