Our Christmas tree tradition usually begins in a neighboring town where a little farm stand sells trees. These trees are fairly priced, but they don't get many, so by the time we go, pickings are a bit slim. And since we start there, I am still being a little choosy. We then go a mile down the road to the hoity-toity farm that is a bit pricier. Depending on how many degrees below 32 it is that night will depend if I find one there I like. We then usually end up 25 minutes in the opposite direction buying a cheap tree from a guy on the side of the road.
This year, however, my brother invited us to join in his traditional excursion to the tree farm. The last time my husband and I cut our own tree, it involved climbing down an icy hill in the bleak cold, trudging through a snowy forest, picking a tree and then lugging it back up the icy hill, where the tree guy asked if we had cathedral ceilings. We did not.
I had a lot of wreaths that year.
So, it was with mixed feelings that I anticipated the trip this year. The first blessing however is that unlike my Utah friends, we have no snow on the ground yet. So that was the first plus. The second is that yesterday was a gorgeous, almost balmy 45 degree day, with abundant sunshine. Not too tough to take. And then they brought us via wagon ride to the area with the tree types that we wanted. We simply had to pick one out, chop it down, bring it to the path, tag it and then they would pick it up.
We did have to walk back (it was rough :-).
I brought the camera and got a few pictures while trying to find the perfect tree.
Rachel immediately found the perfect tree for her:
Daddy had loftier ambitions:
I am not sure what was happening here. Bears? Aliens? A horribly misshapen conifer?
In the end, it was a fun trip and everyone found the perfect tree for them. And yes, my brother has a cathedral ceiling. Still...