Journey To A Tree
Christmas not complete without trip to Hickory Ridge farm
For a Massachusetts resident, Christmas isn’t complete without a 150-mile trip to Coventry for a tree.
Every December, I resolve to slow down and savor all the season’s joys, but the reality is I never have time. December is a relentless, fast-moving steamroller. I’m harried by holiday preparations, endless exams and papers, and panicked students who have suddenly awoken to the fact that, like Christmas, the semester’s end is right around the corner.
So why do I drive 150 miles every year to Hickory Ridge Tree Farm in Coventry to buy a Christmas tree that I could easily purchase in Massachusetts, where I have lived for almost 40 years?
Rewind to 1970, when I was a student in an unruly fifth-grade class at Manchester’s Washington School. The boys threw spitballs and openly defied the teacher’s vain attempts to establish order. A voracious reader, I ignored the bedlam by covertly reading books concealed under my desk.
Recognizing my love of words, my teacher assigned me to an advanced sixth-grade reading group. Several times a week, I escaped and walked the long corridor to the oasis that was Mr. Robert Visny’s orderly classroom. Little did I realize he
would become a lifelong friend and an enduring entry in my December calendar.
During my time in his class, I learned Mr. Visny had a second job: managing his family’s tree farm. That December, my family made the first of our annual pilgrimages to Hickory Ridge in search of the perfect tree. It was a revelation to see Mr. Visny, or Bob, as only adults like my dad called him, outside his classroom. After all, only a few years earlier I believed my sister’s claim that our teachers worked and lived at Washington School. Yet there he was, bounding across the Currier and Ives-like hillside, dressed in a parka and serviceable boots, not a jacket and tie. He even drove a tractor!
Appearances notwithstanding, Mr. Visny of Hickory Ridge was the same Mr. Visny of Washington School. He loved his work and his customers, many of them students whose names he never forgot. The patience he showed leading a class of lively sixth-graders was on display at the crowded tree lot. He offered expert advice on the dozens of stately firs and squat balsams standing at attention against the fence, each a fragrant reminder of Christmas. He gently guided families as they debated that all-important question: Which tree should we take home?
Retired from teaching for years now, Mr. Visny still carries in his head a blueprint of the Washington School neighborhood, home to hundreds of former students. He knew me first as a curious, nerdy fifth-grade bookworm. An astute teacher, he recognized my potential at a time when I barely knew myself. Even today when we talk, I am that younger Lisa, elated, not overwhelmed, by the season. For me, a return to Hickory Ridge means a return, however brief, to that magical time when Christmas was the only event on my December calendar — and the most wonderful time of the year.
Yet, over time, everything changes, even Christmas and its beloved traditions. Lately, even my joyful pilgrimage to Hickory Ridge is tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. My dad, who began the tradition, is long gone. I used to make the trip down Interstate 84 with my kids. Now I travel alone. Although Mr. Visny still lives at the farm, his daughter, Martine, and her family manage the daily operations. The saddest change, however, was the 2014 death of Wilma, Mr. Visny’s beloved wife of 62 years and a stalwart presence at the fourth-generation farm. How quickly life moves on!
Through all these changes, this remains: Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a trip to Hickory Ridge Tree Farm. Once again, I’ve made time in busy December to share a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne and savor an enduring friendship. When my visit ends, I head to my car, tree strapped to the roof. I survey the peaceful, unchanging Coventry hillside one last time. As in years past, I feel a thrill of hope. All is calm. Christmas is coming. My weary world rejoices. Lisa Stepanski is the associate dean of humanities and social sciences and a professor of English at Emmanuel College in Boston.