We didn’t have any strong tradition around trimming a Christmas tree when I was a child, at least not that I can remember. Obtaining the tree resembled a loose imitation of Clark Griswold as we ventured out to the corner of a pasture to find a red cedar that had managed to escape repeated fires.

Nearly all these adventures were rather uneventful and ended with an indoor evergreen adding a festive look and scent to our house. We’d drape lights over the boughs and hang an assortment of ornaments from the branches, carefully testing the heavier ones against the tree’s thin limbs.

Once erected and decorated, the tree was largely a stationary sentinel overseeing a growing pile of presents. It stood on duty until the packages were distributed on Christmas morning. Its mission completed after a few weeks, the tree was unceremoniously removed and disposed of before the New Year.

This was the tree routine of my childhood with the exception of one year. The only time I can remember we didn’t get, set up or decorate a tree at Christmas has provided one of my family’s most cherished holiday memories and likely the story that’s been retold the most.

Like any good American family story, this adventure began in a vehicle – a green Toyota Land Cruiser FJ-40 to be exact. The small, boxy, rugged vehicle wasn’t designed for toting Christmas trees. I also know it wasn’t built for comfort because my brother and I were relegated to the jump seats in the rear, which lacked both cushioning and seatbelts. It was, however, a vehicle created specifically to not get stuck on a hunting trip.

We were after the wrong prey, apparently, because our search for a perfect evergreen ended abruptly when we tried crossing a small draw in the middle of the pasture. The precise details of how we got stuck elude me, but the multiple escape attempts have been told and retold over the years.

When locking in the hubs to engage the four-wheel drive didn’t work, the next option was the winch on the front of the vehicle. The only problem was getting stuck in the middle of a pasture didn’t offer any anchor points. Luckily my dad had packed a mobile mooring for such an occasion. After several minutes of digging, hammering and swearing, he’d secured the ground anchor and attached the winch.

The cable grew taught and the Land Cruiser rocked ever so slightly before the shallow soil holding the anchor gave way and we remained stuck. The only option was a long walk to my grandparents’ house to get help while we stayed with the vehicle.

It didn’t take more than an hour or so for help to arrive in the form of my grandfather driving the tractor with a grin stretching from ear to ear while my father was riding on the hay wagon with his pride slightly defeated.

We were pulled free in short order and went home without a tree. Our presents accumulated under a small, decorative tabletop tree that year. We didn’t know it then, but that was also the start of a new Christmas tradition.

The hunt for a live tree faded as my brother and I grew older and weekends got busier. The decorative tree became the centerpiece for presents, and it still serves that purpose today — only now most of the presents are for grandkids.

While it doesn’t require any trimming, it still serves as a reminder of that fateful adventure so many years ago when a failed routine gave us a story and a new tradition that connects generations that never had the chance to meet.

When we retell the story of getting stuck in search of a Christmas tree, it leads into the narratives, anecdotes and chronicles that make up our family folklore. While getting a tree was once the tradition, it’s been replaced by a story. Every retelling is a reminder that planned moments matter less than the ones that stay with us long enough to be passed along.