The earth’s orbit is not a perfect circle, but rather an ellipse. Because the orbit is not a circle, the distance between the earth and the sun is not a constant.

Because of the way the earth’s axis is tilted, the amount of time that any point on the earth’s surface spends facing the sun depends on two things:
0. Latitude
0. The earth’s location in its orbit

The the length of daylight in the northern hemisphere is actually shortest when the earth is closest to the sun.

I have a vivid memory of a high school science teacher turning off all the lights and climbing up on top of a desk with a flashlight and a globe to demonstrate this phenomenon.

It’s almost the darkest day of the year.

“I like this one.”
“Eehhhh. It’s crooked near the bottom.”

“What about that one?”
“Isn’t it a bit tall? Plus, the needles are too sharp.”

“Look at that one over there!”
“Pffft. It’d never fit in the house.”

“THIS ONE!”
“It’s the perfect height!”
“Actually, it’s kind of lovely.”
And then, from the last of us:
“Yes, okay, but – look at that big gap in the middle, d’you see…”

Etc., etc., for the appropriate amount of time. Then:

“What about this one?”
“Ooo…”
“Loren?”
“I like it. Also, my toes are cold.”
“Mom? What do you think?”
A pause, and then an approving nod.
“…Okay, yeah. It’s a nice tree.”

And so it was settled.

We joined hands around the tree for a minute, and said something like a thank you. It’s a thing my family does.

This time, Evie cut it down. In one go. All by herself. She was all pink in the face and proud of herself, after. Then I picked up one end of the tree and dad grabbed the other, and we began the walk back up the hill to the barn.

People dressed in red and green appeared out of the woodwork to help my dad lift the tree and set it on top of the Jeep and strap it down, carefully, while the young ones snuck candy-canes into our coat pockets. And then we all piled into the car and drove, carefully, until we turned left into the driveway and were home.

And then it was time for the tree stand, and untangling ropes of Christmas lights, and carrying boxes down from the attic. Someone put a John Denver and the Muppets Christmas CD in the player. A stand mixer was retrieved from the depths of a cupboard, and a cookbook was flipped open to the correct page, and someone added

half a pound of sugar,
some vanilla,
a package of cream cheese, and
a tad less than a stick of butter

into the bowl, and mixed them up, and set it outside in the snow to chill.

And in the back of my head, I remembered other Decembers, a long time ago, when Sara was here, and we’d roll out cookie dough on the island in the kitchen and cut out the shapes of rabbits and snowmen and pine trees and angels, and you could tell the exact time they were ready to take out of the oven by the smell.

And then I looked up to see my little sister, who wasn’t little any more, standing at the kitchen counter and meticulously mixing drops of food coloring into the frosting until she’d found exactly the right shade, until she had a rainbow laid out in front of her.

And it was dark outside, because the days were shorter, for a while.

But on the inside there was joy, for just a moment, and the house smelled like cookies and pine needles.

And soon there will be familiar ornaments – old friends, almost forgotten – and my Dad will read the first stave of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

And I’ll stay up later than anyone else and I’ll set down my phone and I’ll lay on the couch and look at the lights on the tree and breathe in the smell of pine.

And it’s so dark outside. Dark, and cold, and forbidding. And there’s this stupidly illusive feeling that I almost remember from childhood, that I often think I should be feeling, when 101.3 switches over to their Christmas playlist, when the choir starts singing carols on the street. But it’s sometimes very, very hard to feel.

Until that moment. When it’s so dark outside that my sister insists that it’s time to get a tree. When the lights go up in the garden and around the edge of the front porch, not just at our house, but at every house in the town and across the city and around the world.

I’m not sure, but I think it’s a manifestation of an ancient, stubborn human impulse – to make our own light in the darkness, to strike a match against the cold. Even as we’re closest to the sun.