Oh Tannen-bumble!

We cut down our Christmas tree today. 

It's a ritual we've followed for at least the last 10 years ... driving out south to Bucyrus, a small, rural, Kansas town sliced in half by a single-track railway. We love the drive and the hunt for a tree at the Graubergers' farm. 

This year we found a good one -- not too fat but not too skinny. Cindy, Zach and Meghan were there. Eric, Meghan's friend, joined us. Plus the dogs. All in all, a calm, sane day amid the pines. Check it out. 

Last year? Hardly the case.  We didn't get the reminder card from the Graubergers, so we assumed -- wrongly -- that they were out of business.  A co-worker of Cindy's clued us in to a new tree farm farther north in Kansas.  We gave it a shot.

Who knew what would follow?  

You see, Meghan has a thing for odd trees.  Trees she can name, with personality.  Just a few years ago, we acquired the fattest tree we'd ever seen, and she lovingly called it the "Bumble" -- after the Abominable Snowman character in the animated Rudolf cartoon we'd seen on TV for years. 

Though we, too, loved the Bumble, it was a beast to haul into the house and shoe-horn into the northern corner of what we call "The Fireplace Room."  But we did it and proudly showed it off to friends. 

But last year? Well, fat doesn't begin to describe the tree Meghan picked.  Let's see ... how's this: 

- First, regarding height ... this was not a squat tree.  It towered at least seven feet.

- It certainly was round, like a capitol rotunda is round.  Using a tape measure, we figured its girth at 18 feet. That's just about three times the height of the average man. 

- Even the tree-farm workers cowered at its sight.  "I don't think we'll be able to bag it," said the boss, looking skeptically at the metal contraption that spins nylon netting around the tree, collapsing its branches into a cocoon-like shape. It was a personal defeat for him. No tidy cocoon for this tree.

That was an issue.  Because if the tree is not netted taut, shrunken tight like vegetables in a Seal-A-Meal, it must ride home atop the minivan in full form, branches spread wide, catching the wind like the foresail on a schooner. 

That was the case. With the help of those at the tree farm, we struggled and heaved the tree atop the minivan.  Instantly, what had been a 5 1/2-foot vehicle was now about 12-foot tall. 

I began to worry about those signs on bridge underpasses warning of minimum truck heights.

We roped it down as best we could. (Like Gulliver being roped by the Lilliputians. If you don't recall the fable, check it out.) 

Cindy, Meghan, Zach and Meghan's roommate Tiffiny, laughed at the absurdity of a tree almost fatter than the car is tall. Me?  I began plotting the route home. 

Highway travel was not an option.  No way.  Instead, we'd have to inch through downtown Kansas City, Kansas, to Prairie Village at -- I guessed -- about 25 miles an hour. Otherwise the wind caused by our speed would pull the Lilliputian knots asunder and we'd be, well, tree-less ... and probably cause a car wreck to boot.

As we turtled our way through KCK, we had moments of panic.  A KCK cop pulled behind us -- are we illegal!!? -- then moved past.  A car ahead abruptly stopped, as did we. Yes!  The tree held fast. 

We then noticed people staring ... pointing fingers.  We ignored them.  A 12-foot-tall minivan with a pine-colored shag top?  What's the big deal? Odd things are normal in KCK. 

At last, we arrived home. The tree was intact, as was the car. It took an hour and 20 minutes for what normally would be a 25-minute drive. Relief. 

But oh, the neighbors! We quickly rolled the tree off the car with a massive thump!  I calculated our next step -- how to get it into the house. 

Keep in mind that this tree's circumference is 18 feet. That means, roughly, it was wider than KU football coach Mark Mangino, though not by much. (Okay, apologies to Mark, but jeez ... the guy makes a major visual statement at every game. I assume he accepts that.) 

After a family meeting, we decided to haul the tree through the back door. It was wider, plus it connected directly with the Fireplace Room, where the tree would finally rest.

So, here's the deal:  The tree's diameter is almost 6 feet wide. The door's width? About 3 1/2.

You do the math. Somehow this tree would need to pop through the door, intact, like a newborn. 

Zach and I gave it an early shot ... we pushed and tugged and pulled. After five minutes of hard work, it was wedged tight, a massive green, scratchy, immoveable clog. 

Out of breath, I called for reinforcements. 

"OK, Meghan, come out and help Zach push," I ordered.  I went inside to pull, with Cindy's help.

  

We all gripped branches.  

"OK, one-two-three, pull!!" I yelled.  No effect.  "One-two-three, PULL!!" Again, no movement. "One more time," I yelled, hoping to inspire. "One-Two-Three, PULL!"  

The tree budged an inch.  "ONE-TWO-THREE ... PULL!!" I yelled again, heartened, feeling the rhythm. 

Another inch. 

"ONE! TWO!  THREE!!  PULL!!!" I screamed. 

And then with a huge scratching sound -- its limbs loudly protesting -- it shot through the door, spilling onto the floor. Its massive branches, spring-loaded, swung back and forth, sending its powerful pine scent to all corners.  

Like a babe, delivered!

"Wahhhh!" Zach cried, on cue.  (That's my boy!)  

Interestingly, this year, Meghan seemed less ambitious with her tree selection. Nothing too big, though nothing too small.

I guess giving birth will do that to you.