Every year, the Stoiber household goes all in for Christmas. Thick wreaths adorn the doors; red bows decorate the mantel place; a winter village scene plays out on the windowsill; three hand-knit stockings hang from the fireplace for my older twin sisters and me; mistletoe dangles from the top of the doorframe. And, at the center of it all, is a massively decked-out Christmas tree.
The five of us Stoibers always go together to pick the perfect tree. Though the time of year varies — a couple weeks to literally hours before Christmas Eve — the qualities we seek in a tree remain the same. It has to be tall — at least six feet — with large, willowing branches that frame the trunk perfectly. Once purchased and brought home, the decorating commences.
My family stores boxes upon boxes of ornaments collecting dust in the attic until they make their annual appearance. Ornaments bought during family vacations, handmade ornaments from grade school, gifted ornaments — the list is endless.
But one ornament stands out from the rest: a small, 2-and- 1/2-inch-long, green pickle, also sometimes called a gherkin.
The pickle tradition has been in my family for as long as I can remember. Though there are various versions of its origin story, the one my grandparents heard was that a German immigrant serving as a Union soldier was imprisoned by the Confederates. On Christmas Eve, he asked his guard for a pickle, and the guard relented. Miraculously, the soldier survived, and when he went home he started hiding a pickle in his Christmas trees for his children to look for.
Around 15 years ago my grandparents gave a pickle ornament to my dad and his sister. Since then, the pickle ornament has been a staple in Stoiber tree decorations.
Every year, a different member of the family is selected to hide the pickle ornament in the tree while the rest of the family leaves the room.
Throughout the Christmas season — as soon as the tree is up to when it’s taken down — people can look for the pickle, and the first to find it wins, ensuring they will get good fortune in the new year.
When I was younger, I considered myself the champion pickle-finder. As the youngest, I always wanted to be the first to find it, often racing my siblings and cousins to the tree in my pursuit. Thinking back, the adults probably (ahem, definitely) let me win.
Now, almost an adult myself, I realize that the point of our tradition has always been to bring the family together.
Hiding the pickle ornament is a silly, sweet bonding experience that connects the different members of my family together, if even for only a couple minutes.
So as the Christmas season rolls around, I’m excited to continue this tradition, even if it centers around a wrinkly, little vegetable.
