« Traditions

ESSAY

Tradition

An Existential Question — Notes from New England

Traditions. I guess we all have them. These are the things we do every year, year after year, with family and friends.

We have a tradition, of course. This tradition always leads to an existential question every year. Maybe the question is the tradition, huh?

My daughter likes to take her two young children on a trip to see the Christmas lights. It amounts to a walk of about a mile and a half through some kind of reclaimed farm field and woods to view thousands of lights hung across leafless trees. It’s beautiful — or so I’m told.

So we drive — well, the Mrs. drives as I don’t — for two hours, spend the night, go on a walk for an hour and a half, spend the night again, and then drive two hours home the next day.

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

We all get dressed. We get dressed in snow suits. We get dressed in snow pants. We get dressed in great thick heavy coats and mittens. We wear boots and hats. We travel for almost an hour to the former farm that hosts this great display. There’s actually a lot of driving involved for an hour and a half walk.

For this adventure this year, my daughter bought me a special pair of ski pants and a heated vest. I usually wear my L.L. Bean coat and I am dressed in at least 6 inches of insulated fabric. It reminds me of when my mother used to dress me as a child only to get dressed and realize I had to go pee. And as an old man that doesn’t get any easier. I wear the clothes once a year and put the clothes away, someplace safe and someplace where I won’t lose all the parts like the batteries for the heated vest. I lost them last year and took a pile of crap for it.

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

It’s always cold. The farm sits atop a hill in southern Maine near the coast. The wind blows from the north or the wind blows from the ocean, and the wind always makes it colder. The wind is always there. It’s always cold. I think the farmer gave up the farm to do this for three weeks a year, and probably makes more money. It’s easy to tell this is a do-it-yourself project.

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

It’s always dark. The place only opens after sunset which in Maine happens about 4:30pm in the afternoon, but it’s dark, dark enough for the lights to show off in all their splendor.

So we go for a walk in the old and dark woods with a lot of other crazy idiots.

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

I’m sure I must make a sight, looking like a noir version of the Michelin Man with a white dog. I’m sure it looks like a Spectre appearing out of the woods — black, puffed man with a little white dog, as if the ghost of Christmas past has come to life. I can imagine for the unexpecting that I can scare the be-Jesus out of them.

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

The walk consists of a gravel path winding through the woods. It meanders in and out and roundabout through hill and dale and freezing temperatures. The children like to run. And of course, they fall, one scarring his hands and the other scarring her nose. They cry and wail.

We do this every year. It always turns out the same. Crying and wailing in the dark.

Did I mention that it was cold and dark?

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

My eyesight is not as sharp as it once was. Not that it was ever very sharp, but now it’s a whole hell of a lot worse. I haven’t read a real book or newspaper in 10 years. And, of course, I don’t drive. That’s why I have a guide dog. But the poor dog is freaked out by all the glowing lights and all the blinking stuff and all the people trudging along the path stumbling their way through the dark, and cold. It is always more like a movie scene in Star Wars when the Millenium Falcon misses a jump to hyperspace and all the stars go flaming past. I really didn’t see a fucking thing and went along for well… the adventure.

So here is Noir Michelin Man and Snowball Bella stumbling through the dark, trying to keep up with running children who are falling in the gravel. And wailing in the dark and cold. 

It’s an adventure. Tradition.

But home at last — time for bed.

My granddaughter is smart — but of course, just like all grandchildren at four. She has learned that she can stay up later if she goes to bed with Grampy to watch a movie. So we watched a movie on my iPad — but of course. Smart kid.

As luck would have it, she chose Olaf’s Frozen Adventure by Disney, a cute little movie where cute little Olaf goes on a cute little adventure to find Christmas traditions. Olaf fails, but at the end is reminded that the only tradition that matters is the time spent with family. Nothing else matters, just family.

Oh. Drat. Damn it all. Tear jerker. Tear jerker with music. 

Damn Olaf. Damn Disney. Damn it all. 

My existential question was to be “Why in hell do we do this crap every single year in the dark and freezing cold?”

Family.