Selling Christmas trees at the shore, a family business

For many local business owners, selling fresh Christmas trees during the holiday season has become as common as selling beach gear in the summertime. The holiday trees can be found in stores everywhere from the big box stores on Route 72 in Manahawkin to the small garden centers and surf shops on Long Beach Island. Although selling Christmas trees for three weeks in December is more or less a hustle, it can also be a pretty lucrative trade. And in a seasonal location such as Southern Ocean County, every little bit of income helps.

Photo by Anne Marie Essinger
Me and my brothers, Steven and Joey, and
our family dog Sasha take a moment in 1994
to pose for a family photo after a long day of
decorating grave blankets and wreaths.

My parents, Steve and Anne Marie Essinger, started selling Christmas trees out of their front yard on Route 9 in Barnegat in 1986. Newly married, they were looking for a way to extend the length of their budding business, Essinger and Sons Landscaping. The commercial property they had bought a few months prior was perfect for their new venture, and they continued to sell Christmas trees every holiday season for 16 years.

Though I did not know it at the time, those first few years were tough. Without a proper business sign, many potential customers drove right past our tree-filled lawn. The trees, wreaths and grave blankets, which my parents purchased from wholesalers in South Jersey, were sometimes too dry or too sparse to sell. Some were even misshapen. And although blue spruce and Scotch pine trees were known to be popular, they did not sell as anticipated. We were lucky if we sold 50 trees.

Eventually, my dad found a laudable wholesaler in Delran where the trees were brought in fresh from Pennsylvania and North and South Carolina. They were always beautiful: big, lush and very fragrant. Customers came to know us for our Fraser firs, what my dad called “the Cadillac of Christmas trees,” and in our peak years we sold more than 650 trees. We often ran out of inventory, forcing my dad to make weekly trips to Delran. Sometimes, my brothers and I would go along for the ride. We watched wide-eyed as the men hauled the bundled-up trees onto the back of the trailer, and we would always grab a bite to eat before heading home.

The trees, displayed on metal rods my dad and his workers hammered into the front yard by hand, were always set up and ready to go by Dec. 1. Each tree was handled four times: pickup, unloading, display and sale. Upon purchase, each tree was wrapped with netting, and my dad always offered to secure it to the top or load it into the back of each customer’s car.

We sold Christmas trees seven days a week, in the rain, snow and sleet. We had fresh trees for a good price, and word spread. Customers came in droves, parking up and down the sides of the road, leaving their vehicles in the bank parking lot two properties over if needed. Some people even came to pick up their trees while visiting relatives before heading out of state. We were usually sold out days before Christmas; even the stragglers went.

In our house, it became tradition to decorate the limpest, most broken tree for the family room. Of course, our Cadillac Christmas tree, picked out early and strung with lights and ornaments, was set up in the living room, ready for opening presents on Christmas morning.

As a kid, I loved the tree business. Splayed out on the front porch with the living room stereo blaring Christmas music from Elvis Presley to Alvin and the Chipmunks, my mom and I decorated the wreaths and grave blankets with big, red bows, plastic poinsettias and shiny little replicas of presents and pine cones. I was also in charge of handing out candy canes; every customer got one. My brothers, who were older than I and looking to earn some extra cash, sold dollar packets of Tree Life. Who could say no to those precious, boy faces?

We often invited our friends over and, bundled up in winter clothing, zigzagged through the trees, playing made-up games with our dog, Sasha, a shepherd mix that always wore a festive, red bandana. My dad was always repositioning the trees we knocked over in our play. Sometimes he would holler at us, but mostly he enjoyed our fun.

We were often so busy we had to order pizza for dinner, since sit-down, family dinners were usually interrupted by customers. “Who buys a Christmas tree at dinnertime?” my parents wanted to know. But really, they were happy to be making a sale.

I loved when customers came around, especially when my friends from school showed up. Honestly, I was proud. Although it was a bit embarrassing standing in between the rows of trees, waiting for the bus to school in the morning, I felt really fortunate to be a part of something so special.

Through the years, we donated many trees to local institutions, including St. Mary’s Church in Barnegat and Elizabeth V. Edwards School, which my brothers and I attended.

When my parents’ landscaping business picked up, they decided they could no longer sell Christmas trees, too; it was too much work. I was 14 when they decided to call it quits, and I was devastated, really.

This year, my dad and I purchased our Christmas tree at Home Depot because “it was easy.” We walked through the rows of trees, which were sagging slightly against each other in stacks, and picked up the first one that caught our eyes: a beautiful, 7-foot Fraser fir. After spinning it around to get a better look at all angles, we decided we had found a winner; the branches, we imagined, would drop nicely. And the star we had at home, we knew, would fit nicely on top. We are experienced in this department.

Christmas carols played quietly in the background as the clerk netted up our tree, and we were even offered a cup of hot chocolate: “Swiss Miss,” my dad noted.

“That’s why you buy your tree here and not at Lowe’s,” the clerk replied.

It was nice, but it was not the same.

— Kelley Anne Essinger


This article was published in The SandPaper.