Tree Hunting

The tree farm we go to is a little family biz up a side road an hour's drive up towards the mountains. Been operating forty years. They built a quaint little Christmas village.


I could be snarky but it's nice, really, not overly commercial. They sell trees (cheap!) and ornaments and hot chocolate. Boughs are free.


I used to always say, let's take this one! Then I figured out they weren't little kids anymore who'd laugh at anything.


I always bring a saw and someone always asks, why'd we bring a saw? And we never use it.


If you cut well above ground the tree will eventually grow another main trunk for someone else. We found one nearly perfect (pics later, prolly). To cut no more than we needed I climbed up onto the cut trunk of another, three or four feet above ground, and commenced with the sawing. It fell, and I was King! I was Man, I Cut Down Tree!


It's fourteen feet tall, more or less. Thirty two bucks, something like that.


I started to get in the Christmas mood and took this picture. I'll get over it.


They had the usual life-size creche thing and the baby in the middle was rolling his eyes and going "Dad! It's 4 B.C.! It smells like a fucking barn in here! Couldn't We have waited, like, a couple thousand years? I mean, building codes. Building codes! That's all I ask. And some decent Thee-damn music!"