Christmas Tree Hunt

Growing up, my family unfailingly chopped down our own Christmas tree from a sprawling, unkempt tree farm within a few miles of our house. Some people might think a sprawling, unkempt tree farm is the last sort they'd want to frequent, but those were its biggest draws for me--the two ingredients that separated mediocrity from magic.

Sprawling meant that it was a true hunt for the truly dedicated. Unkempt meant that finding a tree that 1) fit in your house and 2) didn't look like it was balding in awkward patches was an achievement of monumental proportions. We often brought our sleds, and after a long, meandering vertical trek we were rewarded with a glorious downhill slide.

The other asset of this particular tree farm was its rickety bridge over a river filled with rapids. (I mean, it felt like a river filled with rapids, which is the important part.) You had to cross the bridge in order to get to the hill of trees; no way around it. It was deliciously terrifying as a child, every time.

I'm a sentimental creature, and it's for all of these reasons that saying goodbye to that particular tree farm was a bitter pill after getting married. My dear husband, long-suffering man that he is, would have willingly driven 25 minutes to get there if I'd asked (in fact, we did get our tree from that farm the first Christmas after we were married). However, wisdom told me that with very small children in tow, starting a new tradition chopping down a tree from the tree farm at the end of our very own street would be a better idea.

It is not sprawling. It is large, yes, but not sprawling.

It is not unkempt. On the contrary, it is very kempt, indeed.

Each tree is perfectly shaped.

Each tree has a perfect point upon which to place a star.

And with two little people tree hunting with us, I suppose these features might (possibly) be selling points.

Snow was always a tree-hunting necessity growing up, but then we always went just before Christmas when the odds were in our favor. Since I've made my peace with abandoning tradition, I just went all the way. We got our tree just after Thanksgiving on a brisk, but absolutely beautiful, Saturday.

Tadhg (being Tadhg) was more interested in all the machinery they had at the tree farm than in anything else. See that little speck by the Kubota? That's our boy.

We finally made it through the Valley of Motorized Temptation and started up the hill to find our tree.

And find it we did. Quickly. Painlessly. With no delicious terrors, no above average dedication.

Home again, home again jiggity-jig.

This boy slept on me for pretty much the entire excursion, but he woke up to be cute while we were tying the tree on the roof of our car.

Until next year, Manageably-Sized, Tidy Tree Farm. Until next year.