Skip to main content

my hunt for a tree


"the best tree ever" he exclaimed!
It’s the same story every year.  I look, I search, I contemplate.  Trees have to be pirouetted around so I can see all the angles.  That’s the Christmas-tree-lot-version. 

This year, my fam is going out to cut a tree; very Griswald like.  In years past, this was our tradition, complete with a bonfire, thermoses filled with hot chocolate and mulled wine; hot dogs to roast on fresh cut sticks.

Mostly, we’d tromp around in the woods, giving each potential tree a once over, until that “Hallelujah Chorus” moment arrived.  

The only problem it was on the other side of an icy cold creek, with banks and drifts of equally cold and deep snow.  Well, hubby being the really swell guy that he is managed to cross the water without drenching himself.  He cut the tree, floated it downstream to a more appropriate place to bring it up the bank, to present me with my prized Noble Fir.  That was the story from an eon ago.  The 2015 tale is ready to be told…

We drove about 10 miles out-of-town and turned onto a well-used forest service road, all while dodging other vehicles piled with families who had the same idea to experience the “wilds” of Christmas tree gathering.

yep, hat, gloves and a cute guy to cut a tree
Donning our hats and gloves, we set off into the wilderness (a term used more tongue-in-cheek) in search of our best tree ever!  Bella Bird dog jumped over branches and bushes heavy with wet snow, while the littles slogged along knee deep and grinning.

I’d like to say some great escapade happened.  It didn’t.  We found trees straightaway; branches sparse with wide open for sparkling ornaments to dangle. 

What did happen - a great gift - memories were revived and created; seeking, sawing and sliding conifers to be tidily tied to the top of our cars, and giggles, frozen fingers and rosy cheeks…wrapped up with spinning cookies in the snow … now who’s grinning?


Missy





If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance


Comments

  1. AWWW! What a heartwarming story and happy memories. You make the rest of us a bit envious. It's more fun to do the tree hunt in snow than rain. Beautifully written and lyrical.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, my friend. This is the first year in many, that we've been able to go out with family to get a tree. It was very sweet and special. Definitely picturesque in the snow, but cold. Happy Christmas to you!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear

lent, not lint

says it all - the grotto It sticks to your clothes and shows up splendidly on black, it gets caught on the screen in the dryer and socks elaborately decorate your toes with the stuff.  Yep, lint:  the fuzzy, ravelings of fabric that cling to everything; like Velcro, only different. Lint actually has a purpose.  By scraping it from linen it can be made into a soft, fleecy fabric.  Cotton staple – lint fibers – are spun into yarn.  While all of this is riveting, especially while staring at the lint in your belly-button, there’s more to Lent than its sound doppelganger. lint: fluffy, minute shreds of yarn lent: a season of preparation These two tiny words sound similar in our vernacular, but have massively different implications in our lives.  We clean-up lint and toss it in the trash.  Lent, however is a prepping time for us to realize we’re not great at cleaning up our own stuff. Lent was originally a season between winter and summer, now called spring.  The s

pebbles

strewn pebbles Walking on the path I noticed the pebbles. I stopped and picked one up, holding it in my hand to feel it’s texture. Tiny and smooth, it felt warm from the sun. Continuing on my walk, the way was scattered with pebbles of different shapes and sizes; some flat and polished, others round and craggy with sharp edges that could cut the skin. I considered the meaning, if any. Some had been sanded to perfection by time and wear. Others recently broken and chipped were harsh, ugly to feel and look at. No matter, all were pebbles; that was fact. Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance