It’s that time of year for our family. Tree time.
We are lucky to live so close to so many tree farms (that’s Mt. Hood hiding back there). Most of the farms are family owned, and I’m glad to be able to support them. We have our choice of douglas and noble and grand firs (we usually bring home a douglas because it’s the most economical, but the nobles are my favorite).
The farm that we’ve been visiting the last few years also raises sheep, so I pick up some wool to stuff my own creatures while I’m there.
We are given a saw and head out in search of the perfect one. We always get a six footer which happens to be my height, so I do a lot of standing next to trees like a measuring stick. It takes some time to come to a family consensus, but once we do, we all take turns working the saw back and forth. Down she comes.
I am always so thrilled every year to have a big tree sitting in the middle of my house. The smell can’t be beat, and there’s something pretty surreal about it all. I beg my kids to let me leave it undecorated and unadorned, so that we can pretend we live in the forest, but they always win out.
I’ve got to admit—the lights sure are pretty.