Over the weekend, I chose to embrace my Christmas spirit (before it went away) and went and got a tree.

My memories of getting a tree are of a Christmas tree farm in Maryland (I grew up in Oxford) where Santa sat in a barn that was full of Christmas knickknacks and other stuff you could decorate the house with. Outside you could pick your tree, pet goats and sip hot chocolate.

The place had rows and rows of trees that you could walk through, looking for that perfect one.

I've had quite a few of my own places around Philadelphia and one in Vermont and never bothered getting a tree. The year in Vermont, the closest I have come, was a branch I snapped off a tree and stuck in an empty PBR can. Not to festive, I know, but I was a 23-year-old guy.

In Philadelphia, I've never had a tree. Until this year. I wanted to go down to Broad and Washington, where a guy has sold them for years. But I read he wasn't there this year and being impatient I didn't bother calling around.

My memories of buying my first tree now involve driving down Columbus Blvd. in the rain to Home Depot. The store had a lot of trees, but they're wrapped in twine so picking one out is a bit of a gamble. I chose mine on height.

Now, as you can see, it's not a bad looking tree and it smells alright. It has a citrusie smell and fits fine in my apartment. So, I'm happy with my first tree. Now we'll see if I remember to water it. Who knows, in two weeks this post could be followed up by a post on the first year I killed a tree.