Today was the day: our annual Christmas Tree Hunt.
For the past few years, Sam and I loaded up the Jeep and headed into the nearby hills to find a tree, rip it from its lovely home in the woods, drag it into our home, decorate it with random metal/wood/plastic thingys and such, and hope no squirrels came attached…
I remember the first tree we found together – it was short, mangy, and down right questionable. But, it was ours; and it was how we were going to celebrate out holiday.
For our first Christmas in Colorado, we skipped the tree – instead, just three weeks after moving out west, we loaded up the dogs and the car and drove back east to celebrate with our families. The following year, we had a new home, a baby on the way and yet another trip back east to celebrate the holiday with family. Though I can’t remember if we got a tree that year, I do remember the great ski trip with some of our best friends from PA when we got back to CO a few days before new year’s eve – but that’s another story.
Then, last year, while the in-laws watched the little one, we drove as far as we could on the same road we drove today, hiked down a slightly-too-steep hillside, and found the perfect tree for Forest’s first Christmas in our own home.
This year, we loaded up both kiddos and indulged in a sun-soaked bluebird day! While Abbey slept through the whole thing, Sam, Forest, and I drove further than I expected and found a great tree…
Now, there are a lot of legends, stories, and ideas about why those who celebrate Christmas, bring a tree into their home. But all I know, whatever the reason for this crazy tradition, I’m glad it exists. What’s better than sipping coffee and singing Christmas songs with your family as you ramble around on forest roads, hitting the breaks when you think you see the perfect tree, throwing the Jeep in reverse when you realize it’s kinda mangey, and stepping on the gas to find the patch of evergreens – and hopefully “the one”? Ya, exactly.