And Now It Smells Like Christmas

It can't be good that there are just a handful of people here on a Saturday afternoon. But this isn't the easy way to do it. An ice wind sifts down the ridges and snakes through the trees, but if you hop in the snow from tree to tree you can play hide and seek with it. The low grey sky blends into the hilltops, promising more snow very soon. It's almost dark before it's dark.



My parents bought loved Charlie Brown trees from a city parking lot, stiff Scotch pines that looked festive but started to seem dangerously flammable by Dec. 25. Because the Tree is one of our favorite parts of the season, we like fresh, fresh Frasers, full with soft blue-green needles with silvery undersides. Not too big-- the ceiling is low.



I just love Christmas tree farms. Long ridges and narrow rutted lanes, mazes of green triangles, friendly red-cheeked staff (the owner and his wife passed our truck, and rolling down his window, he smiled and asked, "See any trees?") Years ago when we visited our first farm, near Manitowoc, the wind chill was below zero and we got lost on the winding paths. All that hiking and frost-pained hands for a tree that dropped its needles within the week-- it had been spray-painted green as it stood in the ground. Could've gotten that at the gas station.

We've had much better luck since then. One farm had Santa, free hot cider and peppermint, rides on a horse-drawn wagon to your chosen hunting ground. When they ran out of Frasers for good, we moved to a quieter place... and on the high farthest ridge, our last five trees have stood while we hopped between the branches, dodging the brisk wind, finally pointing to yell "How about this one!"