The Best Tree :: Christy Corp-Minamiji

The dark comes swift and cold this time of year.  

My family’s winter holiday traditions grew from roots firmly planted in European soil with a centuries’ deep layer of Christianity over the pagan bedrock of the feasts and decorations.  But as my children have moved through the Waldorf grades, I’ve watched and listened as they’ve learned that the gifts of light, food, and music in times of darkness and cold transcend cultures and religions.  In addition to the familiar rituals of Advent, they’ve accompanied Santa Lucia on her journey, celebrated Diwali, learned Hanukkah songs on their instruments, and been gifted by St. Nicholas.

Our households are not particularly religious, nor often organized, but certain traditions and a sense of seasonal rhythm (however loose) unites us as family.

Depending on where we plan to gather, individual houses in our family may receive varying degrees of Christmas decoration ranging from the odd pinecone up to the full-on Sugar Plum Fairy treatment.  Our holiday prep follow similar patterns; some years there are weeks of baking and crafting and carols, other years the weeks spin toward the holidays too fast for anything but bare-bones and last minute gifting and cooking.

But, my children know that no matter the upheaval anywhere else in life, one thing will hold true every year.  There will always be a Christmas tree.  

One year, nearly forty years ago, there almost wasn’t a tree.  

My parents are both only children, so family holidays were a combined effort, always including both sets of grandparents, sometimes my great-grandmother, and often the odd great-aunt and uncle.  Even though my sister and I were the only grandchildren, our holidays never felt small.  They bustled and cracked with food and energy and love.  

When I was about six, my family (parents, baby sister, both sets of grandparents) gathered in a rented condominium near Lake Tahoe on Christmas Eve.  I remember the crunch and slip of my tennis shoes on the parking lot snow, the diamond edges of the air, so different from the thick tule fog of home, and the feeling that anything could happen.  As I was shuffled into the condo amid the bags and boxes and enveloped in bear hugs, I looked around and felt something sink.  It didn’t seem possible; part of me believed there was another room somewhere.  But no, nowhere amid the unwieldy 1970s furniture and rust upholstery was the thing that made Christmas real.  The smell I prized above even that of baking cookies had stayed outside.

In all of the adult pre-trip strategizing, a critical element had been overlooked.  No one had brought the tree.

I was heartbroken. I crumpled on the couch in tears.

Looking back with adult eyes, I can imagine the layers of irritation added to the existing unpacking and holiday stresses by a six-year-old meltdown. But I have no memories of anyone giving me the sense that my sorrow was a burden.

My dad’s mother was a fiercely optimistic force of nature.  Holidays were her bailiwick.  Little inconveniences like snowstorms or missing Christmas trees were no deterrent to the perfect holiday. She hustled my father and grandfathers out the door into a snowy and quickly darkening evening to find a tree and sat me down at the table to string popcorn for “when they come back with a tree.”  Not “if.”  Failure was not an option. 

Meanwhile, out in the night, all the tree lots were sold out and closed. 

But several hours later, around the time my mother was making noises about bed, there was a clomping and rustling at the door.  The expedition had returned with a tree -- of sorts. They'd found a woman in a nearby condo unit who had an overly large tree, and as she was throwing out the bottom foot or so that had been lopped off, she gave it to them.

From that sad remnant of pine, my father and grandfathers jury-rigged a tree for me. It was scrawny, and probably rather wobbly, but when it came time to take down the decorations and clean the condo, I mourned that tree more than any other in my life. I remember standing by the dumpster, staring at the little tree and its popcorn-draped branches, sobbing to my grandmother that this was "the best tree ever."

“The first light of Advent is the light of stones, the light that shines in crystals, in sea-shells, and in bones.”  Our traditions represent the bones of family, a solid framework, a core of stability in a sometimes cold, dark, and uncertain world.  Those traditions, whether they be trees, crafts, lights, food, or music warm and hold us through the winters of life.

It's been nearly 40 years, but, for that tree and the love it represented, my children know that no matter where we are or how tightly we are budgeted, there will always be a tree.  Also, Santa will always be left cookies and a beer, but that’s a story for another time.

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Christy Corp-Minamiji is our reluctant muse. A mom of three distinctly divine, loved-by-us kids, she takes everything, and mostly herself, with a grain of salt. Blogging veterinarian, freelance writer, runner, and soon-to-be-author, she took our beg and ran with it. Literally.

Ideas for Advent + Santa Lucia

We've gathered together a collection of beautiful ideas for Advent & Santa Lucia, just for you! Click here to visit the Waldorfish.com :: Advent board.

xoxo-Robyn

Zann Carter on Advent in the 80's

last night...

I've long been charmed by my friend Zann Carter, Waldorf-homeschooling pioneer, knittress, and sisterkeeper. She shared this bit in The Living Home Facebook group the other day, and I felt so moved by the continuum she created. It inspired me to bring a savory follow-thru to the season. I hope it resonates for you, too.  xx, Maya

"Steiner & Waldorf-inspired homeschooling came into my life in the late 80s and by 1992, when we moved to Indiana, we had radically changed our observance of Solstice & Christmas. We began to honor the Light of this season with a long, slow journey through Advent, the Twelve Holy Nights and Epiphany. It wasn't complicated: building up the Nativity scene, gathering most nights to 'do Advent' with candles, stories, carols, cookies. On St. Nicholas Day, our children would find chocolate coins & craft materials in their shoes. 
They absolutely loved this. So much that there seemed to be no disappointment when we pared down the gifts to one request and two surprises plus stockings. Christmas Day became just a slightly more special day among many special days. Because we continued on with activities (the Wise Men journeyed through the house to arrive at the manger on Epiphany - spotting their new position was a daily game...), there was no "day after Christmas let-down." The whole of the season became calm and gentle and renewing. 

I remember standing outside all those years ago, in our new home (cold Indiana instead of warm Florida where I had had all my Christmases before) looking at brilliant stars in a clear sky...and thinking that there was much in these Advent rituals that I could continue to do, that would continue to nourish me, even after my children had grown and left home. And that was true. 
But for the last few years, I have had the delight of sharing a weekly 'doing' of Advent with my granddaughter. It is a deep, deep joy I experience as I get out the handmade song and verse books my children used, as she rings the Advent bell, as we unwrap the same stones and crystals that her father and his siblings unwrapped." 

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the hermit...

'Zann. Location: Terre Haute, Indiana, United States

Professor's wife, mother of four, zannma to two. Grew up in Coral Gables, Florida, transplanted to Indiana at age 40, where I saw my first snow and learned to love wool. We homeschooled three of the kids, I helped to create a used bookshop ( Wabash River Books 1996-2005)and became an online bookseller. I started this blog in 2005 to share my mid-life artwork (primarily fiber), poetry and creative explorations. On March 18, 2006 my 20 year-old son Patrick died...and my world irrevocably changed.

I own 63 years now. Life is very mysterious, magickal, beautiful and sweet and sad.

Needle-felted Advent Spiral + Lizards in the Leaves blog // Instagram 

#simpleseason, you + us on instagram

Let's gather...

Of course we're always thinking of ways to mine your magic and wise ways for the rest of us. You each bring so much hope and encouragement, and we bring bits of your warmth and meaningful practice into our own homes and learning spaces. Seeing how you do it shows us what else is possible. It's so inspiring!

We've set up a little Instagram gathering for us. Selfishly, we hope to see as many of you from Asia, Europe, Africa and Australia as possible. We'd like to repost your images, some here, on our Instagram, Facebook, and also on Pinterest. {our FB page is followed by parents, teachers, homeschoolers, & Waldorf schools from around the world) Here's how it works:

1. Get an Instagram account via the Apple Store or Google Play.

2. As you move thru each day, take a photo of your ways. Your home, your hands, whatever you are holding in your heartspace. We have 31 prompts up there. Use any prompt on any day!

3. Bonus points :: let the kids take the picture! 

4. Follow us, @waldorfishlife. In your photo comments, tag us by typing @waldorfishlife, and include the hashtag, #simpleseasons.

5. We'll repost some of your images and follow your stream.

6. Join our blogroll below, so others can follow you. Scroll to the bottom and tap "Click here to Enter." 

That's it!

With LOVE,

Maya @urbanorganica, D, Robyn @therobynwolfe & Brian @brianwolfe

{images via Pinterest}