In search of the wily Christmas tree
When I was a kid, Dad would load me and my three brothers into the jeep and go up to our cabin to find a Christmas tree. This usually involved getting the jeep stuck in the snow at least once and having to use the winch to pull it out. And I remember one time when the cable broke and we all hiked 7 miles through the snow to the fish hatchery to get help. I have never been a fan of snow since that time. Usually our tree was lopsided or had a hole in one side or was too skinny or too fat. Mom should have come along so she could pick a good tree, but she had learned to hate snow just as much as I did. I am now a great fan of neatly groomed tree farms in lower elevations where the snow does not go. This is where Kyle and I went yesterday. There's still the search for the "Right" tree - be it noble fir or douglas fir or spruce. Be it short or tall or thin or fat. The size is often dictated by the space we can create for it.
After we (I) have selected the perfect tree, Kyle cuts it down and we transport it to the shed where they put it on a machine that shakes much of the debris and most of the small animals free from the branches.
I developed my decorating technique when I was in college. The technique involves putting on the lights first, then hanging every ornament you own on the branches, going out and buying two more boxes of colored glass globes, then fabricating more ornaments from aluminum foil, colored paper and glue, popcorn, and finally hanging spare bits of jewelry up because they were shiny! Our tree is much more sedate now.
Sedate little tree squeezed between sofa and treadmill.
You may notice cement blocks down by the floor. We boosted the tree up on a table top to show better through the window. Ben adores hiding under the table.
I don't think the cats know that Christmas trees can be climbed. They sniff the branches suspiciously, then run through the house like a two cat posse. What is it about that fresh pitch aroma?
What traditions do you follow?