Sunday we went Christmas Tree hunting. But that morning, we mosied around the house, enjoying our warm little nest. Baby Dragon came into our bedroom and looked out the window. He asked, "Why are there so many footprints in the snow?" I answered, "Because you and your sister walked all over the yard two days ago." He countered, "But it's morning." Then I understood what he meant: the snow should be fresh and untrodden every morning, because every day is new...
We eventually made it to Elk, WA to hunt for our tree late in the afternoon. As we pulled in to the lot, we recognized that this where we got our tree for Fairy Girl's first Christmas. Apparently neither of us has any space in our brain to remember we've been somewhere until we're there again. I even think I said I would never go there again because there were such horrible diesel fumes on the hayride. But here we were again so we took a hayride up to the tree farm and hiked to the top of the hill to look at the Grand Firs. The snow was deep and hard to walk in for the kids. We had Boo bundled up like a fleece gnome and I wore her on my back. We deliberated on tree preferences, and we eventually picked Daddy's. Fairy Girl was worried that the tree was too narrow at the bottom because most of the lower branches were pinned to the ground in the deep snow. We were not disappointed; the tree has a lovely "skirt". The tree cutting process goes as such: consider, choose, hug the tree, take a picture with it, stand back and let Dad saw it, then yell timber! It smelled so good. Lemony and cedar-y and fragrant. Maybe that's my favorite part, the fresh release, the smell of the cut. We all yelled "timber" and Dad pulled it through the deep snow and tree wells until we got back to the path.
We eventually made it to Elk, WA to hunt for our tree late in the afternoon. As we pulled in to the lot, we recognized that this where we got our tree for Fairy Girl's first Christmas. Apparently neither of us has any space in our brain to remember we've been somewhere until we're there again. I even think I said I would never go there again because there were such horrible diesel fumes on the hayride. But here we were again so we took a hayride up to the tree farm and hiked to the top of the hill to look at the Grand Firs. The snow was deep and hard to walk in for the kids. We had Boo bundled up like a fleece gnome and I wore her on my back. We deliberated on tree preferences, and we eventually picked Daddy's. Fairy Girl was worried that the tree was too narrow at the bottom because most of the lower branches were pinned to the ground in the deep snow. We were not disappointed; the tree has a lovely "skirt". The tree cutting process goes as such: consider, choose, hug the tree, take a picture with it, stand back and let Dad saw it, then yell timber! It smelled so good. Lemony and cedar-y and fragrant. Maybe that's my favorite part, the fresh release, the smell of the cut. We all yelled "timber" and Dad pulled it through the deep snow and tree wells until we got back to the path. 
Baby Dragon found a branch and wanted to keep it. It was a pathetic branch, sort of a Charlie Brown pick, but he was so happy and had so many imaginary prospects for it, that we brought it all the way home and it's in a vase on his dresser. The sun was setting as we walked back down the hill and waited for the hayride. This time the kids got to sit right behind the tractor (not diesel this time) and this inspired much tractor play at home.
When we pulled the tree into the house, put it into the tree stand and cut the baling off, Baby Dragon climbed into my lap and said, "September!" I said, "wha?" He said, "September." After a few repeats, I finally asked him to help me understand. He replied, "I want you to say what you said when we cut the tree down." Oh, duh, "Say Timber!" Hence, "September," to a 4-year-old! Makes me wonder what else he hears me say that I am not really saying.
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