I lifted my cup and sipped while Mom perfected my wreath with a bit of extra holly. She was an old pro after doing these events for so many years. I wasn’t bad either. There was an artistry to plating gourmet meals, after all. Presentation was almost as important as the flavors on the plate.
I’d woven fresh green boughs together with sparkly gold ribbon, holly, and pinecones. Mom fiddled with it, more forsomething to do than to make any big changes, until the workshop ended and it was time to clean up.
While we packed up supplies, she kept up a happy stream of chatter, still reminiscing about my childhood Christmases.
By the time I got inside and showered, it was nearly 9:00 p.m. I changed into some comfy sweats and a T-shirt and was just thinking about sneaking over to Hopper’s room when my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was the same as Kody’s in Christmas Falls. Maybe this was the festival planner he’d mentioned.
I’d nearly given up on the idea of Griff calling me.
I answered. “Hello?”
“Noel, Griff Calloway here. Kody asked me to give you a call. I hope it’s not too late. It’s crazy around here this time of year, and I’ve only just now found a few minutes to talk.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate you taking the time to call.”
“Sure,” Griff said. “Kody tells me you’re wanting some ideas for how to make your Christmas tree farm more of a holiday destination?”
“Well, something like that,” I said. “It’s been in my family a long time, but my parents have slowed down a lot. I just want to liven the place up.”
“Ah, I see,” Griff said. “Well, in Christmas Falls, we basically run on holiday extravaganza, so I can certainly give you a lot of ideas for festive events.”
“That would be awesome. I want to give my parents a great season. I’m starting to worry it might be their last.”
“Oh?”
“They’re nearing retirement age. The farm is a lot of work. I don’t want to think about selling, but I don’t know how much longer they can manage…”
“Ah, yes. That’s a shame,” he said. “One of my best friends runs a Christmas tree farm. I know how much work it can be.” He paused. “But at least you have this year with them. You can really make it special.”
“I’m trying, but the event I held tonight didn’t get much turnout. I doubt it makes any profit.”
“It goes that way sometimes,” Griff said. “Not every event is created equal. Some will have great profitability, and others will likely make nothing, but for us, they all work together to create Christmasmagic.You’re really selling an experience. Selling traditions.”
“And memories,” I spoke up, thinking of how nostalgic Mom and I got tonight at the wreath-making event.
“Exactly,” he said. “If you want an active holiday season out there, you’ve got to offer people an experience they don’t want to pass up. Something they won’t easily get somewhere else.”
We talked for another fifteen minutes. Griff was patient as I picked his brain about marketing, timing, and anything else I could think to ask. I opened my email on my phone and typed notes while we talked, making a rough outline of a plan that might work this season.
“I’ll send you a list of our more popular events,” Griff said. “Maybe you’ll find something that helps. In the future, you might consider creating a mini festival to get more of a crowd all at once. But maybe that’s just the festival planner in me.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’re the expert. It’s certainly worth a try. I’ve already planned a couple of things this year, or I’d do it now.”
“It’s probably too late this year. Food for thought.”
If we combined events, customers wouldn’t come out only to make one craft, but possibly to visit Santa and take photos, drink hot chocolate, take a hayrack ride,andsing Christmas carols and make gingerbread houses all in one outing.
I couldn’t swing a whole festival, but maybe I could put his advice to use on a smaller scale.
Next year, we could plan a big weekend right after Thanksgiving to kick off the season.
Or, well, Mom and Dad and Hopper could. I couldn’t be here every year. And if they retired, well, they’d be able to pass on the idea.
My stomach tightened. I hated to think it, but what if these really were the last events we ever held?
Mom had seemed so happy tonight, reminiscing about the old days on the farm. Dad’s family heritage was tied up in this place. It wouldn’t be easy for either of them to give it up.
