Usually, my wife and I go to a market or municipal lot, perhaps a charity site, for our Christmas tree. But this year I put my foot down and said we should go out into the forest and cut down a tree. No fancy cultivated shrub for us this year, no sir. No store-bought patina.
So off we went, out into the wilds of nature to select the perfect tree. The air was crisp and the snow underfoot squeaked in the cold. Farther into the wilderness we went, often taking cover from moose or savage bears trying to scare us off. I lugged my trusty ax with me, honed to a sharpness that would make hewing our tree child’s play. Soon we became hungry and stopped to enjoy a couple of hotdogs and a glass of lingonberry juice that we brought for the trek.
At last there it was, the ideal tree for our needs. Not too tall not too short; full but not overwhelming. Just right. Above is a photo of my wife taken deep in the forest just after I, with but a few swings of the ax, felled this beauty. We dragged the tree back through the trees and moose and bears to our car, hoisted it on the roof, bungee cabled it into position and headed off back to the city.
Now I’m not saying I want to do this every year, but it was certainly a fine experience communing with nature.