A passionate believer and Bermuda-lover follows the path of Bermuda-bound Christmas trees, from their roots on a Vermont farm, to our sunny shores.
Never in a million years, did I imagine myself sipping coffee with the captain of a cargo ship discussing the “magic of Christmas.” But there I was on the high seas one December day considering the joys, nostalgia, good memories, sad reminders and, most especially, the magic of the holiday season.
It all began when I first heard someone refer to the “arrival of the trees.” It was just prior to December so, obviously, the trees were for Christmas. As a writer with a passion for Bermuda, I thought to myself, “This must be a monumental occasion! Christmas trees arriving in Bermuda from parts unknown in a massive ship.” I wondered was there a grand celebration at the Hamilton docks? Perhaps a group of carolers to signal the arrival of this precious cargo in a ceremonial way? I decided to dig a little. I wanted to know how this Christmas ritual happened, and how it had become so commonplace in Bermuda that it could be discussed in a nonchalant manner.
I began by jotting down a list of nurseries and stores in Bermuda that import Christmas trees. I came across Bermuda Xmas Trees, the organisation that has donated over $100,000 to local Bermuda charities through the sale of Christmas trees. This immediately sparked my interest; it was a perfect fit for my charitable soul. I sent off an enthusiastic e-mail. It went to spam. Disillusioned by the lack of a reply, I thought my hopes for a story were dashed until weeks passed and I got a rousing reply from Peter Schindel of Bermuda Brickyard who founded Bermuda Xmas Trees. The next thing I knew, my sister and I were driving northward to Vermont, over three hundred miles (more than fourteen times the length of Bermuda) after crossing over from Long Island to Connecticut on three ferry boats. Our destination was five miles south of Canada, the hilltop home of Alain d’Anjou and Lise Dionne.
It was a beautiful winter day. The Vermont countryside glistened with a dusting of snow. As luck would have it, the “most direct route” through the rural countryside of Northern Vermont was via magnificent back roads amidst forests and farms. Upon arrival in Canaan, we were met by Alain d’Anjou, a truly charismatic farmer who embodies the spirit of a French film director, complete with a French beret. How fitting, I thought, as he has orchestrated the perfect Christmas for so many people, year after year. Alain drove us up his snowy drive to a beautiful red house overlooking his 120-acre farm. We enjoyed homemade pizza, a glass of wine and hot apple pie with his lovely wife, Lise. Conversation was nonstop, as we examined the maps of the farm, noting that lots 18 and 19 are solely dedicated to Bermuda. Over lunch, we learned about what it takes to grow a single Christmas tree. Suffice it to say, it is a decade of love and dedication.
I was intrigued to learn that Bermuda is the only foreign country that receives Christmas trees from this farm, on which the pines are randomly planted on the hilly countryside. I had expected to see a tree plantation akin to those in Hallmark movies with trees in perfect rows, side by side. The vision of the farm in its rugged format is a spectacle, providing a lovely habitat for wildlife. Our conversation touched on the seasonal calendar of a Christmas tree farmer. Trees must be planted, fertilised, shorn to maintain their shape, and of course harvested—but only after they reach their perfect height. Saplings are purchased either from the US or Canada and grown for two to six years before they are planted on the farm. Once in the ground, it can take up to six additional years on the farm to produce a specimen bound for Bermuda. A new tree is planted on the farm wherever there is enough room for it to flourish, perpetuating the cycles of nature.
In no time, the phone rang. “Bermuda is here!” The trucker was down the hill, ready for Alain and his small family crew to load the outgoing twenty-foot container. We all donned our winter gear and hurried down to experience the clockwork precision with which this highly experienced family gingerly and cheerfully handled, one by one, three hundred trees. The largest trees were manually loaded at the bottom of the container. These were the pines destined for Bermuda’s hotels, houses of worship and shops with high ceilings. Once those were safely in place, Alain hopped into the container to manually arrange every other tree that was carried up to him by a Christmas-tree elevator.
Hours passed. The light in the sky began to fade. Finally, the last trees were in place. The paperwork for Customs and Immigration was complete, and it was time for the dedicated trucker, Bismarck, to depart for the Port of Newark. It was nearly dusk. My sister and I had accommodations further south, so we bid adieu to Alain, Lise, Mariah and Mark with extreme gratitude for a window into their most unusual—dare I say magical—world. One week would pass before I would undertake the next leg of my journey of Christmas discovery: escorting the last container of trees from D’Anjou Tree Farm to Bermuda aboard the merchant vessel Oleander.
It was a dreary Friday on December 1st, as my sister and I drove 121 miles to the Port of Newark, New Jersey. Trouper that my sister is, she agreed to send me off in style—damping down my fear of seasickness with an hilarious mix of ships-themed songs from Spotify. As we approached Newark and its vast port, my instincts told me that I would not be the same person upon my return from this voyage. The port captain met us and escorted us safely through the intricacies of the port with countless, towering rows of containers and cranes as tall as the eye could see. There were moving parts everywhere—clearly a dangerous setting for all involved. After some diverting farewells and selfies with my sister, I walked up a slippery metal gangplank and waved goodbye to her in a queenly fashion before heading inside.
The Christmas trees bound for Bermuda had already been loaded beneath the cargo deck. For the next five hours, I watched the remainder of cargo loaded onto the Oleander by cranes of epic proportions, well aware that these were the necessities of daily life for Bermudians. Of course there were Christmas gifts, too, such as a shiny red car in the garage below! My two days on the ship were marked by strict mealtimes and designated invitations to be present on the bridge for departure and arrival, and a tour of the entire vessel arranged for a new hire. In between, I had meditative time, as the boat swayed back and forth. Reading was undesirable. No Wi-Fi or entertainment was possible. It was the perfect occasion to rest to the rhythm of the waves. Upon arrival in Bermuda, I was elated! Due to my unconventional arrival, I was escorted to St. George’s immediately for “processing.” However, the first officer made sure that I was able to view my companion cargo prior to disembarking the ship. He asked the crew to open the cargo hold for me. There lay my trees, dusted with snow. Sigh!
Once the container went through the X-ray machine on the Hamilton docks, it would be bound for Bermuda Brickyard for inspection by the Department of Natural and Environmental Resources (DENR) and Customs and Immigration. The physical site and container must be sealed off until inspectors are ready to do their examination. Several large tables were set up in the driveway of the brickyard—each reminiscent of a doctor’s examination table. Once the container was opened by the authorities, trees were carried one by one by the Brickyard team for their thorough examination, no branch left untouched. I could not help but feel a little self-conscious for the trees!
I was informed that once 25 percent of the trees were found to be healthy, DENR and Customs would sanction the entire shipment. As I saw each one stood up and shaken back into shape, each tree appeared more beautiful than the next. I marveled at this experience. Here I was, immersed in the ambient aroma of a pine forest—listening to Kiskadees!
In no time, the gates were open and customers flooded in to purchase “the perfect tree.” It seemed that it was an easy process, until they began to view the additional trees all around them. All of them looked perfect! The best part of the morning was the discovery of snow at the bottom of the container. For those Bermudians who had never seen snow, it did not fail to impress. It went immediately into the fridge for “show and tell.”
Often, the magic of Christmas comes to us at the hands of people we have never met. A tree farmer. A truck driver. A crane operator. A ship’s captain. A local business that appears to “just sell trees” but, in truth, facilitates the entire process, all the while faithfully supporting local causes. Looking back on the outset of my sea journey, the ship’s captain and I may have had different perspectives on the magic of Christmas and the symbolism of a Christmas tree, but even he could not dispute my belief that the ship’s artificial Christmas tree needed a star. After all, the tree was haphazardly taped to the floor to weather the high seas. A star would enhance its dignity.
As for finding the magic on Christmas Day, we need only to believe. And for all of us with a real tree to enjoy this year, let us be grateful for the many invisible hands within our supply chain that brought it to us: From the people who unfailingly nurtured your tree over many years to the captain and crew who saw its safe passage to Bermuda and the dock workers who ensured its delivery into your hands.
Merry Christmas, Bermuda!
