It's a yearly tradition. Dig up a saw from the dregs of the garage, load up the dogs in the truck, and head out in search of the perfect Christmas tree. The road this year was a solid sheet of ice, so we parked as soon as we could find a good spot to turn around. Off we went into the woods.
Carl has experience in the tree business so he has a more discerning palate when it comes to finding the perfect one. We followed game trails up one ridge, tromped through snowbanks down another, hiked across meadows to check out a tree only to discover it was bald or dying on the other side.
The dogs provided moral support for the search.
On the last leg of the circle back to the truck we found one that looked good. Just to be sure, we walked around it and then back and forth a couple times. Yup, at'll do.
Since Carl is still in recovery from his shoulder surgery, I was in charge of the felling operation. Thank goodness I had so much supervision or I'd still be out there hacking away.
Success! Thus began the triumphant hike back to the truck, tree in hand.
You can't help but smile when you're out here.
The final gauntlet to the truck required us to traverse the Snowy Cutbank of Extreme Danger...
...and cross the Icy Road of Certain Doom. The dogs were, once again, extremely helpful.
Back home we got the tree inside, upright, and even decorated. It was fun pulling out all the ornaments and going through the memories; there were things remembered from our childhoods, ornaments we'd bought while together, and others that were a total mystery to both of us.
Happy holidays!
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