In the spirit of this warmer weather, I thought I'd write a story about our past Christmas and our adventure buying a Christmas tree. I have always wanted to chop down our own tree Clark W. Griswold style. We ventured out into the country in my father-in-law's pickup truck. This was no simple trip. We decided to bring our little Yorkie Chewie along since it was her first Christmas with us. Well, Chewie gets motion sickness pretty easily in the car and my hubby was still a little rough-around-the-edges when it came to driving a manual transmission. To make matters even worse, we were completely lost in the middle of nowhere going up and down dark, curved country roads. Chewie started throwing up everywhere, all over my lap. We had no tissues or paper towels, so we pull over onto a farm driveway and I have to take off some of my layers of clothing to act as a blanket to catch all the regurgitated dog food. We finally find the Cut It Yourself Tree Farm and, of course, it is closed. I had the pamphlet in my hand the whole time and I had been looking at another location's hours. Defeated, we head back home, drop off our now sick-as-a-dog dog, and decide to head over to the other tree place. We finally find it, after having driven down several wrong roads and all the way up to someone's house thinking we were on a road when we were actually on a driveway and, lo and behold, it is closed as well. This time I had been looking at the third location's hours. (Yes, I am serious.) My dear husband was so fed up, he was tempted to just leave money in the shed door and chop a tree down right then and there in the middle of the night by himself. I didn't want to get arrested for trespassing, so we didn't go that route. What did we do? We went to a hardware store the next day in pouring rain to get one from a pretty shabby looking lot. Maybe next year will be the year we chop down our own tree...
0 comments:
Post a Comment