"Cut Your Own Christmas Tree" Debacle 2005

You didn't actually think I'd forget, did you?

So really, when I say debacle, I mean debacle. Each year since my parents moved far far away from Milwaukee (and by each year, I mean last year and this), we have partaken in the tradition of cutting down our very own, very much alive Christmas tree from the nursery down the street from the 'rents house. This is actually a very nice, quiet, family owned nursery, tucked away deep in the recesses of the countryside, made popular by local residents, visited by few outsiders. This place is unique only because being family owned, it is actually on said family's home property: basically, thier backyard is home to thousands of pine trees all of varying shape, size, color, and type. There are quite a number of windy-twisty trails in this man-made pine forest, solely for the purpose of guiding the eager lumberjack to his (or her!) prefered type of tree: Balsam, Douglas, Fraser... your choice! Just follow the designated trail (in your own vehicle) to your desired grouping of pines, or...

For No! Extra! Charge! You can partake in the whole experience, and have one of our nursery staff guide you back on your very own Christmas! Hayride! and guide you through the process step. by. step.

I choose the experience.

Mom chooses the experience.

Dad rolls his eyes.
"It's twenty freakin' degrees outside. It's snowing like crazy out here. I have a saw, I have a pick-up truck, let's just get in there, pick out our perfect tree, and haul 'er out!"

Mom and I in a perfect sing-songy sort of whiney unison: "Noooooooooo! We want the experience!"

Dad sighs. "The experience it is then."

So, we unload out of the truck and parouse the wreaths and enjoy some hot cider and cookies while they put the finishing touches on the tractor, and brush the snow out of the wagon so we all have a clean, somewhat dry place to sit.

"All aboard!"

Time to go. So, we all pile into the wagon which once seemed rather large, but after every last body assumed it's position, our spacious wagon suddenly became quite cramped... and apparently a bit on the heavy side as well. We came to our first little hill, and our monster tractor started reminding me of the Little Engine That Could. "I think I can... I think I can...". It couldn't. Monster wheels were spinning in the snow and mud making a nice brown goo-like substance which was being flung every which way, luckily missing most of us passengers.

Out of nowhere, comes another tractor, this one with a plow attatched to the front of it. So, it positions itself behind us and gives us a "little" push to get us going again. It worked. Off we go! Now let me just interject here and say that I had very foolishly declined the "long under-things" that my parents offered me before we left, so here I am, out in the freezing-snowy-wilderness in a jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. And I. Am. Freezing. So much so, that already at this point, I'm losing feeling on the tops of my legs. Little worried at this point, but I figure I've weathered many winters in jeans... I'll be fine.

So! We come to the second hill... stuck again. This time, our gracious host, decides, "Well! This looks good! Get to choppin' people!" So, we all charge out of the wagon, eager to hunt down our prized beauties. Virtually every tree that my mom or I come across, it's, "Look at that one! It's perfect!" My dad had to be the kill-joy and say something like, "It's 15 feet tall!" Me: "SO?!?" Well, needless to say, this went on for quite awhile. During all of this, my legs began hurting they were so cold and numb, so I had to take off my jacket and wrap it around my legs. I looked like a fool, for those of you who may not have already developed a mental image here. Well, after quite a bit of time, we decided we were just too stinkin' cold to care anymore, and came across a tree that was "nice, big, tall... it's a tree! Let's chop it down and get the crap out of here! It's coooooooooold!! And they're going to leave us if we don't hurry up!" As we're dragging our tree down the hill to head back to the wagon, the silence around us was... eery. "Where are all the people...?" I ask. We look around us. No. one. anywhere. to. be. found. They really left us?!

C.R.A.P.

Did I happen to mention that I'm COLD?!?!

Mom: "So what do we do?"

Me: "I'm walkin'! Who's with me?!"

Leaving our prized Christmas tree behind, we begin our long, confusing hike back to the barn. No one is talking. We're cold, and I'm cranky. This certainly is an experience alright... During our journey back, we come to the river which I failed to mention earlier: we had to drive through it on the way there because the bridge was out. So now, we're standing at the edge of the little half-frozen obstacle wondering how the heck we're going to do this. Well, I decided to take my chances and walk off the beaten path, and try to find some rocks to step on... lo and behold, there were a couple of two by fours that could be used as a make-shift bridge: and we did just that. Dad went first to make sure it was sturdy, and mom and I followed. Okay. Half-way there.

Well, I could go on and on about our journey back to the barn, but let's just say, that we ran into a kid who worked there who was zipping around on a four-wheeler (they literally had NO clue that they forgot us out there), and he appologized all over his little self, and gave us directions back. We were only a couple of blocks away. Well, suffice it to say when we finally made it back, the "tree people" were slightly remorseful, the owner was terribly confused as to how we could have possibly been left behind, and proceeded to give our "gracious guide" the "what-for" as my mom calls it. We got a nice discount on our tree, and headed home with our 10-footer.

But the story doesn't end there. Oh no.

Remember the numb legs? Remember how I was slightly concerned about them? Well, when we got home, they looked like I had taken a clothing iron to the tops of both of them. They were red and puffy and looked.. well.. nasty. So mom freaked out, looked up "frost bite" online, realized that I was exhibiting some symptoms and demanded that I get in the tub because "it says here that you're supposed to soak affected body parts in a warm bath for thirty minutes. Warm. Not hot." So I had to sit in a luke warm bath for thirty minutes. That was fun. But it sure was effective. Thanks to my quick-thinking mom, I was spared two leg amputations that day. Thanks mom. But seriously.. I'm pretty sure I was only moments away from serious frost bite. Love you mom!

So the moral of the story? If you're planning on cutting down your own Christmas tree (Shenna), make sure to take the proper precautions: long undy-thingies, plenty of warm clothing, and water in case you're "left behind". But truly, if you want to avoid a "near death experience", I recommend taking your own vehicle down the not-so-beaten-paths to get your tree. But if you must experience the... experience, bring flares. They'll come in handy. Trust me.