hilltop tree farm

There's a great story I could tell about my sister and I going to a tree farm to cut down a tree one year. Niether one of us would cut it down, so we made the tree farm guy do it, so it's not all that great of a story. That was the only time I've ever actually had a fresh cut tree that I helped pick out. And I've wanted to do it every year of our married days.

We've had artificial trees and a fiber optic tree. We got a tree one year from the Optimist Club in Portland, conveniently located across the street from our old church. (Yes, there is such a thing as the Optimist Club.) We've bought a tree from the Boy Scout tree lot and for the school's fundraiser, and now we have a lovely fresh cut Noble Fir in the bay window of our living room that smells 100X better than any pine candle my dad ever burned. We finally did it yesterday. My sick, coughing, sweating, semi-feverish husband made my Christmas as he helped me pick the perfect tree, ruin his pants, and drag that thing back up the hill. When we got it up in the stand, I proceeded to string it with 900 white lights. Yes, 900. Nine strands of 100 lights.

I like a lot of lights.

And we also got our icicle lights up too. We are the only house in the neighborhood that has stuck with one single color scheme in the decorate your house contest that's not really a contest. I think it looks classy. However, we'll probably need a small loan to pay for the electric bill.

My dear sweet husband told me this morning that he would die for me. I looked at him with a strange look on my face and said, "Please don't." He said, "I almost did cutting down that tree and dragging it up the hill."

And now, on with the rest of the decorating. . .