The Trunk of the Tree: Why Traditions Matter More Than Ever

Entering this holiday season, my home was anything but merry.

A household taken down by the flu. Running on empty after a full year of everything. Caring for a sick animal. My holiday spirit, if I'm being honest, was thin at best.

And yet…this year mattered deeply.

It is the first Christmas since my father’s passing.

It is also the final Christmas as we know it with both my boys at home, before my eldest spreads his wings and moves permanently to the United States.

That reality alone made me want to pause.

To breathe.

To choose intention over exhaustion.

I wanted this season to be memorable. I wanted to honour the traditions that anchor us.

Roots, Not Replicas

I may be centuries removed from my Dutch, Danish, and German ancestors. The language has faded. The geography has shifted. The world they knew looks nothing like the one we inhabit today.

And yet - our roots still matter.

Honouring purpose, connection, and tradition gives us the trunk of our tree. Without it, we sway wildly, constantly reaching outward for meaning, identity, and belonging. When we are untethered from our own lineage, we can begin to crave what feels lacking in our lives - a deep, quiet void that cannot be filled with consumption, trends, or borrowed identities.

That void is often a longing for connection.

Connection to those who came before us.

Connection to a greater purpose.

Connection to a sense of “this is who we are.”

When we know where we come from, we stay focused on what matters most. We stop grasping. We stop chasing. We stop trying to fill the void with what was never meant for us.

It also keeps us honest and respectful. Rootedness prevents us from taking from other cultures and adopting traditions that are not ours to claim or own. When we honour our own ancestors, we honour others in deeper more respectful ways, as well.

Showing Up Anyway

So, despite baking being neither my strength nor my preference, I showed up.

Once a year - without fail - I make Dutch Bankets. Almond pastries I used to bake alongside my late grandmother. They are not just food;

They are memory.

Lineage.

Love.

Continuity.

They are my way of keeping the past gently alive while still moving forward.

As I rolled the dough this year, I felt my grandmother’s presence in my hands. I felt my father’s absence in my chest. And I felt the privilege of passing something real and rooted on to my children.

This is what tradition does. It holds grief and gratitude in the same breath.

Shared Hands, Shared Joy

This year, I was especially grateful not to do it alone.

Sharing the kitchen with one of my dearest friends, made everything lighter. Brighter. Filled with laughter. The kind of companionship that reminds you joy can exist even in tired, fragile moments. The kind that says, you don’t have to travel this path alone.

Tradition does not have to be heavy or solemn to be sacred. Sometimes it looks like flour on the counter, aching feet, and laughter echoing through a kitchen or home.

The Greatest Gift

This season hasn’t been perfect.

But it’s been real.

Meaningful.

Full of heart.

In a world that constantly urges us to move faster, do more, and chase the next shiny thing, choosing to honour our roots feels quietly radical. It is an act of remembrance.

Of respect.

Of resistance.

Because when we tend the roots, the tree stands strong.

And honestly -

that feels like the greatest gift of all.