After the reprieve created by that little ice thing a week ago Sunday, this past Saturday, by default, became the day of our annual tree hunting expedition. We've been going to the same farm for about 5 years or so and couldn't be happier with the tree selection or the $20 price. I prefer to keep the name of the place a secret - bet you didn't think I even knew how to do that, but I'll give you a hint...it's on the other side of the river, sort of by Burden Lake. Burden Lake - what does that even mean? Does anyone have some information regarding how Burden Lake got its name? If so, perhaps we can make a trade.
The ideal length of time, in my opinion, to be a slave to pine needles everywhere is about 2 weeks, which puts us right in the sweet spot of tolerance. That ice event was actually a gift from the heavens which made delaying the acquisition of another semi-alive thing in my house an act of God instead of Goddess (aka me). We were definitely a little late to the game and encountered a fair number of stumps in the field, but, after trudging through the surprisingly deeper than expected snow for about 20 minutes, we located the perfect tree. Again. You see, I say that every single year. It is one of my standard
holiday Christmas phrases along with "I'm never doing Christmas cards again," "This is the last year I'm leaving my house on Christmas Day," and "I'm done shopping. The boys aren't getting another thing." I am consistent - sometimes.
|do they look like tree killers?|
This wonderful little tree farm provides saws and rope and in no time, that tree was tied to the roof of my car heading to its
final new home in the DelSo. This year's tree is a little skinny, but beautifully shaped and, once again, I think we picked the perfect tree. Actually, it is so beautiful that I can't wait to see it spread its beauty far and wide in the form of mulch. But, until that day (1/1/11) when we offer it up to the curb, I will insist that it be plugged in from morning til night, as a beacon to the ho-ho-holidays.