When I was a little girl,sometime between The Bee Gee's and The Bangles ...(que harp-y flashback music)..., we would sometimes head out to the industrial areas of Los Angeles, and there amidst the train tracks and giant warehouses was a strange Christmas tree farm. Behind the dusty cinder-block walls, under a pollution grey sky, rows of dull green trees grew out of the flat, ash colored soil. I remember all of us wandering in this central-city forest, searching for "The" tree that would be this year's living room celebrity, and my mother commenting on a crooked top on this-one, or a bare spot on that-one. I could never understand how bears had managed to get over the cinder block wall to claw or rub bald "bear spots" on the trees, but I believed her when she said it, always keeping an eye out over my shoulder for illusive urban wildlife.
Flash-forward a few dozen years. Guy and I are married and heading out to look for a Christmas tree, and inevitably keep winding up back at Home Depot. Every year the cycle would repeat... I'd start talking about a tree-farm-find, but then sometime in the second week of December we would find ourselves back and Home Depot, digging through the piles, cutting the trees lose from their twine straightjackets, and scrutinizing them. There was always a flaw; a crooked top here, a bare spot there. Guy and I accuse each other of being tree snobs. He's worse than I am, of course.
I once saw a guy walk in, pick a tree still bound in twine up off the pile, and take it right up to the register. Pretty hardcore, if you ask me. I wish I could be like that, but you know... tree snob (ok, he's right. I'm worse).
Each year, we'd finally settle on a "good enough for tired people with whiny kids" tree. Still, my longing for a good old fashioned tree-murder has never gone away. It's the closest I'll ever get to slaughtering my own Thanksgiving turkey. Moving to the woods had seemed like the perfect arboreal answer, but alas, our wee little acre-and-a-third is covered with giant pines and their scrubby babies. No go.
So on the one mid-December day we had free, we took an adventure out to the State Park to cut down a live Christmas tree! (hey, I have already confessed my slant toward shrub-icide. Back off.)
There would be a parade that night in Sutter Creek that we had decided we wouldn't miss, but as I drove Adam to work that morning, I found folding chairs already lined up on the parade route. I threw a blanket out on the curb to save a spot for our family, dashed home to grab an armload of folding chairs and headed back to the parade route. I had received a text from a friend giving me a heads-up that there was snow up in them-thar'-hills, so while I made the chair drop, Guy patched together mismatched mittens and random beanies, layered up sweaters and jackets, and scrounged for old rubber boots. We headed out.
A stop at the ranger station and $10 later, and we were equipped with the pink carnival wristband that would take us from forestry felonists to law-abiding citizens, and a map to the best picking grounds, according to Mr. Park Ranger. One more stop for at the country hardware store for a hacksaw, and we're on our way!
We interrupt this timberland text to bring you some cold hard facts:
#1 - When getting ready for the snow, sometimes it's about the cold, but sometimes it's about the wet. It is important not to forget about the wet.
#2 - Number three. Small children do not like being cold and wet.
#3 - A hand saw is a poor choice for cutting down a Christmas tree, a point which will be punctuated by the roar no less than 5 chainsaws elsewhere in the forest, no doubt maned or womaned by persons in warm, waterproof gear.
#4 - In the woods, gravity can either be your friend or your enemy (subpoint: Trees can't walk).
#37 - Probably you should not park a minivan on half melted, very muddy snow.
Now back to our story.
Piling from the van, Jonah and Natalie delighted in their first sight of snow. I, a veteran of seven Provo winters, was a woman with a mission. I had to get back to that Parade route after all, and we only had three hours to make this thing happen.
I coaxed everyone along but we found the icy snow difficult to navigate. It was the type that was frozen on top, and soft just under the crust. With one foot you sank only a few tidy inches, when with the next you might plunge through up to your knee. As I was trying to help Natalie down an embankment, I lost my footing and took a tumble head first, smacking my knee, hitting my forehead on a log and bending my perpetually sore thumb backward. Hmmm. Strike One on wild tree cutting.
I coaxed everyone along but we found the icy snow difficult to navigate. It was the type that was frozen on top, and soft just under the crust. With one foot you sank only a few tidy inches, when with the next you might plunge through up to your knee. As I was trying to help Natalie down an embankment, I lost my footing and took a tumble head first, smacking my knee, hitting my forehead on a log and bending my perpetually sore thumb backward. Hmmm. Strike One on wild tree cutting.
Undaunted, though slightly crabby, I trudged off down the hill. Yes, you heard me, down the hill (refer back to fact #4). Soon I was joined by Guy, and nearby I could hear the kids playing. But I could also hear poor little Natalie, who had started crying about 5 minutes after arriving and hadn't stopped. Guy and I purposefully-wandered from thicket to thicket, scrutinizing tops and bare spots, looking for the One Perfect Beauty.
After about a half mile of walking, I called out to Guy that I found a suitable tree. I was no longer looking for a perfect tree, I was looking for a "What ever will get this over with" kind of tree. We agreed it was fine-ish, if not slightly wonky, got the thumbs-up from Tessa and Jonah, and I began sawing away at the bottom. I'm not good with a saw. It was taking a very long time. I tried this way and that, and finally surrendered the saw to Tessa and Guy so I could go rescue Ellie from a wailing and sobbing Natalie.
Though it was under the 20 foot limit outlined by the park ranger, it was clear to me that it was far too long for our living room. I voted that we leave a few feet, not to mention pounds, of tree behind.
Natalie had persisted and crying and just needed someone to be with her. I offered Ellie the choice, carry the child, or carry the tree. Trees don't walk, but they also don't cry.
I made my way with the whiny wee one, following the footsteps we had made on our way down the hill, fighting gravity toward the van. I carried Natalie a longish way, and realized if it was this hard carrying a child, the tree-toters were going to need more help. Tessa volunteered to carry little Natalie the rest of the way to the van, at least a good quarter mile more, and I headed back down towards our stumbling, lumbering lumberjacks.
Ellie and Guy had been making steady progress, but they were already exhausted. I found a long branch, and put it under the heavy end of the tree for Guy and I to carry between us, while Ellie wrangled the rear. We clumsily navigated our way the half mile back to the van, falling in holes, stumbling over fallen branches hidden by snow, and trying to figure out the least cumbersome path through rocks and trees.
As we got to the last leg of our hike, we came across the utility road we had crossed earlier. Guy figured that it probably wrapped around to the place where we had parked the van, and went to see if we couldn't just get the van closer instead of carrying the tree up the last steep hill. Ellie and I waited with the tree, panting and sweating, eating handfuls of snow to quench our thirst. We joked about how this was our first and last wild-tree-hunt, we were sure. Neither of us figured there was much chance of Guy ever wanting to do this again.
The road was nicely gouged and torn by earlier four-wheel drives into a churned up slop of brown mud and snow several inches deep. Guy tried to get the van going, but at a certain point on the road it just stopped and the wheels spun. Not wanting to dig us into a deep pit, he backed out and try it again. Then again, and again. After the 5th time he turned and looked at me and said, "Well, that's it. We're stuck. We're just stuck."
I had been holding out on volunteering to try until this moment. It's a delicate thing, like offering to open a jar after someone has given it their all, knowing you might possibly, hopefully succeed. I asked if it would be okay with him if I gave it a shot. "Be my guest," he said, his tone heavy with doubt. He got out in case he would have to push from behind, which worried me. I pictured him slipping and me running him over.
I backed the van far back and up on the shoulder of the road where not many vehicles had traveled, leaving the snow relatively unscathed, and then threw our silly little two-wheel-drive into 3rd gear. Without spinning out, I gave it as much gas as I dared, building up speed as quickly as I could, and then started dodging the puddles. I wound between them as fast as I could, and when I finally hit the dreaded deep spot, I just plowed right through it and miraculously got to the other side. I pulled safely ahead to stable ground, and then stopped the car and got out. I walked back to Guy grinning sheepish. No girl wants to show up her husband, but I couldn't help being a little bit proud. He gave me my victory with a sportsman-like "You did it!"
Though it felt like we'd been gone for 5 hours, we were at about two and a half hours, right on schedule for me to make it to the parade route. Law-abidingly, we scurried home and I jumped from the van to the car, parade route in my sites.
Two hours later, my family found me behind my book, bundled in sweaters and coat, scarf, blankets and hat. They filled the seats I had placed and saved for them and we ate pizza as we waited for the parade to begin. We enjoyed dozens of decorated vehicles, homemade floats and troops of scouts and baton twirlers, as they trod down the Sutter Creek Main Street in the chilly air. I clapped and cheered, and waved back at the folks on the floats. I even got choked up, as I always do, when the Military Veterans float, a truck full of heros spanning 5 decades, passed by. "Thank you!" I called, sincerely and gratefully. About halfway through the parade, I leaned in close to Guy and said, "I guess we can stay."
"Well, the parade isn't over until eight."
"No, I mean stay here, in Amador County."
"I know what you meant." he smiled, giving me a quick kiss.
Though it felt like we'd been gone for 5 hours, we were at about two and a half hours, right on schedule for me to make it to the parade route. Law-abidingly, we scurried home and I jumped from the van to the car, parade route in my sites.
*****
The parade was home-town-y wonderful. An Elvis impersonator crooned Christmas songs that echoed through the bustling street, and window shoppers poured happily in and out of shops adorned and lit for the season. As no one was really guarding their chairs along the route yet, I freely joined the flow of cheerful shop-goers wishing one another Merry Christmas as they held bell-clad doors for each other. In one shop, I was thrilled when the shopkeeper answered my request for a certain special item for a gift for Jonah by digging through a drawer and producing not one, but two of my tiny hunted-for objects (more on this in my next post). I handed over my $3 and slipped my treasured acquisitions into my pocket, then just strolled the gold town walks, people watching.Two hours later, my family found me behind my book, bundled in sweaters and coat, scarf, blankets and hat. They filled the seats I had placed and saved for them and we ate pizza as we waited for the parade to begin. We enjoyed dozens of decorated vehicles, homemade floats and troops of scouts and baton twirlers, as they trod down the Sutter Creek Main Street in the chilly air. I clapped and cheered, and waved back at the folks on the floats. I even got choked up, as I always do, when the Military Veterans float, a truck full of heros spanning 5 decades, passed by. "Thank you!" I called, sincerely and gratefully. About halfway through the parade, I leaned in close to Guy and said, "I guess we can stay."
"Well, the parade isn't over until eight."
"No, I mean stay here, in Amador County."
"I know what you meant." he smiled, giving me a quick kiss.
(if my camera hadn't died, these would have
been this year's pictures. Thanks internet!)
*****
And finally, our hard-won dead tree in it's final resting place...
And no worse for the ordeal.
But my head still hurts.
Merry Christmas, Everyone!
1 comment:
I'm laughing and crying, as I usually do when I read you! Well DONE on the wild tree hunting. It is very arduous but that tree is a thing of beauty! I think you should just shellac it and keep it forever!
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